


Autumn in His Eyes

by Desirae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Castiel, Bad Parent Mary Winchester, Bar Owner Dean Winchester, Boys In Love, Castiel deserves nice things, Dean Winchester Deserves Nice Things, Homophobic Language, Humor, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nurturing Dean Winchester, Profound Bond, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Snarky Castiel, Switching, soft boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-31 17:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desirae/pseuds/Desirae
Summary: Castiel worked his ass off to escape his family and make a name for himself in the art world and now C.J. Krushnic was one of the most sought-after artists around. After years of abuse from his dysfunctional family, he was finally living as he pleased and answered to no one other than himself.Until his older brother, Lucifer, was arrested and found guilty of multiple homicides.Now the name C.J. Krushnic was synonymous with sex, lies, and murder. Castiel, exhausted and stressed by the constant paparazzi and speculation into his own psyche,  goes into hiding, moving into an inherited property of his beloved grandmother’s in the cozy little town of Bear Claw, Vermont-where he meets one Dean Winchester.Dean, though not without his own baggage, is a kind and generous soul who unlocks something in Castiel. Seemingly not put off by his surliness-in fact, Dean seems to enjoy it- the kind bar owner reawakens Castiel’s muse, making him want to open up about his past and who he is. But Dean is too bright to deserve all of Castiel’s dark and the artist is determined not to let them become anything more than good friends. But Castiel soon learns that Dean has other plans.





	1. Simple Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all:) So, this is my contribution to the Dean/Cas Pinefest and I really hope you enjoy it. This was such a labor of love and I hope it translates.
> 
> Lots of thank yous:
> 
> First, to the amazing mods who made this such a stress free challenge to write for by being so organized and helpful <3, Thanks for a great experience:)
> 
> To Hitori-Alouette, the AMAZING artist for this story. She was an absolute joy to work with and I am IN LOVE and so beyond happy with the artwork she came up with. You can find all of the art for this fic [here](http://hitori-alouette.tumblr.com/). Like, reblog, & follow <3
> 
>  
> 
> To my lovely friend [Zoelily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoelily/pseuds/Zoelily) who beta'd the hell out of this story and helped me out so much with polishing it up and making it flow. She's also an amazing Cockles/Destiel writer, so check her profile for her work <3
> 
> To Sarah, who gave this a read through, thanks for the extra eye, it's so appreciated, my friend.
> 
> To Bek-my Teapot and Parabatai, who is the best alpha reader&friend and was with me on this fic every step of the way, chapter by chapter. <3
> 
> There is a playlist for this story that can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLvHFPafJCwPr2PQRpSjoqydisGp1GU4k1) that correlates with the chapter titles. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who gives this story a whirl, I hope it entertains you and warms your heart. I hope to chat with you in the comments:)  
> xoxoxoxoxoxo

                       

 

Castiel woke up with bone-deep exhaustion, which was remarkable after the solid fourteen hours he’d slept since arriving. He shouldn’t be surprised. He knew that his tiredness didn’t just stem from the physical.

 

He padded barefoot on the dark hardwood floors of the main room to the cool blue linoleum of the kitchen, eyes bleary as he turned on the Keurig.  He blindly reached for a mug in the cabinet, pulling out one in beige with little blue flowers stamped all over it. He fumbled for the convenience store bag housing his coffee. Castiel popped in a pod called _Donut Shop Blend_ and slouched against the counter, eyes closed and chin on his fist as he waited for it to brew.  His lower back was not his biggest fan after a night on the too soft mattress in the master bedroom. Castiel longed for his California king, but it along with the rest of his belongings that he wasn’t keeping in storage wouldn’t be arriving until Tuesday. He’d change it up and try the guest bed tonight and see if it was any better.

 

Castiel absently scratched his ass and then stretched as the coffee maker hissed, the last few drops falling into the cup.  He drank half of it standing at the counter before going out the kitchen door to the farmer's porch that overlooked the lake. Gazing out at the rippling water layered with a canopy of fog, Cas felt like he could breathe for the first time in months.  The sun was just peeking out, touching the tops of the pine trees surrounding the water.

 

Castiel dropped himself onto the porch swing and squeaked as the cool wood of the swing touched his bare back. The thin cotton pajama pants weren’t much protection from the cold either.  September in New England was bracing for someone used to the warm eighty degrees of Stanford. It was good, though. Refreshing, even, in comparison to the oppressive heat he was used to. Cas shivered and accepted the fact that he would have to go shopping for appropriate clothing since nothing he had packed from home- _no_ \- _that wasn’t home anymore_ \- was going to get him through the winter without him getting hypothermia.

 

 _“You’re moving_ where?` _What the fuck did you do, Cassie, throw a dart at a map and pick the first hick town you landed on?”_

 

_Castiel rolled his eyes as he added another pair of jeans to his suitcase. “Yes, Gabriel, that’s exactly what I did.”_

 

_“It’s the seventh coldest state, you know. You could wind up with hypothermia,” Gabriel groused and Castiel snorted._

 

_“I’ll manage.  Now, will you hand me my Chromebook charger?”_

 

_Gabriel slapped the charger into his hand, not loosening his grip when Castiel went to take it from him._

 

 _“What the fuck is_ C.J. Krushnic _going to do in Bear Claw, Vermont? Make maple syrup?” Gabriel asked him, golden eyes gleaming with concern and disbelief._

 

_Cas yanked his hand away. “It’s Novak now.  C.J. Krushnic doesn’t exist anymore. I get to be Castiel again._

 

He still didn’t know if that was a good thing yet. He just knew that for now, it was necessary.

 

 _Bear_ _Claw_ was a small town set in the foothills of the Green Mountains. The _Piedmont_ , his grandmother used to say, running the length of the entire state just east of the higher mountain range. Filled with fertile ground, rolling hills, and quiet lakes like the one outside of his backdoor, it was a sight to see.

 

Castiel shook himself from his musings and went back inside to refill his coffee. He looked at his phone, still sitting on the kitchen counter plugged into the charger. The seemingly innocent looking device was no doubt teaming with text messages from his best friend.   
  
Gabriel Milton had known Castiel since he was ten years old and he was the opposite of Cas in many ways. Where he was quiet, Gabriel was loud. Where Castiel was surly, Gabriel always had a joke at the ready; he was outgoing, a little obnoxious, and had an unhealthy love affair with all things containing sugar.  Gabriel drove Castiel crazy, constantly pulling him out of his comfort zone and making him do things he didn’t want to do all in the name of it being for his own good. He was the one person from California that Castiel would miss the most.

 

There were other things he was sad to say goodbye to as well, such as his morning runs in Guadalupe River Park and coffee at his favorite breakfast cafe. Cocktails and dancing until 2:00 am at the Splash Bar with Balthazar and the rest of his social group. Of course, they weren’t the type of friends you called over for movie night or coffee, but he would miss them all the same. Castiel would miss the museums, the street artists, and that feeling of excitement mixed with nausea that never failed to consume him whenever he had a showing of his work. He would miss his carefree lifestyle that ended the moment his brother Lucifer (and wasn’t _that_ just ironic) was convicted of serial murder.

 

Castiel was thirty-five and a successful artist with a major focus on Naturalism and Magical Realism. In his senior year at _Stanford,_ his first series, _The Watcher_ _Angels,_ put C.J. Krushnic on the map.  His second, _Sirens of the Sea,_ paid off his condo (currently up for sale) and put enough in his bank account that he wouldn’t have to worry about his bills for quite some time.  His last showing had been an edgy, gritty series called _Salt & Burn _that highlighted different embodiments of spectors, demons, and monsters, peeking out of natural settings. One of his pieces was the main cover for cult author Carver Edlund’s book series, _Supernatural_ , featuring a ghostly woman in white on an abandoned highway.

 

Castiel had worked his ass off to get into school, eager to be away from his scandal-ridden family. He’d been cut-off financially and knew his only ticket out was with a full Scholarship. Living in a home where your mother barely looked at you, your father paraded around a new mistress every few months, and your brother gloried in physically and mentally torturing his kid brother, was soul-crushing. When Castiel finally left home, his dorm room at _Stanford_ became a paradise of anonymity. He wasn’t Castiel, the queer and socially awkward youngest child of the infamous Krushnics’ of San Jose anymore.  At school, he was just art major. C.J., with paint splattered clothes and charcoaled fingertips. He wasn’t the disappointment of the family anymore for not getting his degree in business. He wasn’t the perverted embarrassment his father told him he was for coming out as bisexual at sixteen.  His parents had wanted to kick him out, but weighed the pros and cons of such a scandal coming to light and instead settled for pretending he didn’t exist most of the time and occasionally trying to break his spirit with assaults on his whole very being down to his core, complete with threats of fire and brimstone.

 

Castiel had counted down the days until he could leave behind the family that had ostracized him and he never regretted not looking back.  His father had had the nerve to come to him after Lucifer’s arrest, begging for money to pay for his defense attorney, the two of them having squandered their own funds away so frivolously on cars, booze and women.  Castiel would never forget the look on Levi’s face when he’d turned up at Cas’ loft begging for scraps and Castiel didn’t cower before him, meekly. Instead, he had stared at his father who was so like him in appearance, down to the deep blue eyes and dark, tousled hair and said, _No_ . _Absolutely not_. Cas had long since accepted who he was and though he had some deep, salt-infested wounds and obvious daddy issues, he had relished in the satisfaction of knowing that he would have no part in helping his disturbed brother wind up back on the streets due to some loophole that an expensive lawyer paid for with his money could have found.

 

Castiel’s mother, Naomi, had cleaned out her own account and left for the South of France the day it hit the news that her oldest son was the lead suspect in a slew of murders. He hadn’t heard from her in two and a half years.  Levi Krushnic had finally given in and sold off most of his assets, only saving the original family nightclub, Purgatory. Everything else went to pay for his brother’s myriad of attorneys. It was no use, the amount of evidence against Lucifer left no room for doubt and he was found guilty on four counts of premeditated murder. He was currently on death row.

 

With his brother’s trial, Castiel’s anonymity went out of the window. A C.J. Krushnic showing wouldn’t only be filled with the art world elite, but also the best and the worst of the gossip mongers and real crime fans who could care less about Castiel’s work and more about the fact that they were seeing and purchasing a sketch or a painting done by the brother of the _Romeo_ _Killer_.  There was always some news story, always some comparison or write up, speculating on the darker themes of Cas’ work and whether or not they were a _“reflection of a deeper connection with his sociopath brother?”_

 

The truth was, Castiel hadn’t been able to really work since the trial began. He had no artist muse. He felt disillusioned and heartsick. Gabriel had told him to just take a break, that inspiration would find him, and to not let all the talk rob him of his joy.

 

Castiel snorted as he stepped back out onto the porch, steaming mug in his hand. _Right_. Easier said than done when he couldn’t help but dissect his own brain, his own darker artistic impulses, wondering if there was a piece of Lucifer inside of him. They were brothers, after all, and Castiel had to face the facts that when it came to nature versus nurture, he was pretty fucked in both categories.

 

Two weekends ago had finally been the last straw. A bathroom hookup at some hipster bar his friend Balthazar had dragged him to. A doe-eyed little brunette had fawned all over him. The fact that it had been nearly a year since he’d produced anything even worthy of being called art clearly didn't faze her. She sucked him off in a men’s room stall, moaning around his cock about how he could use her any way he wanted; fuck her face, choke her out, and then the words:   _Are you a big man like your brother?_ Castiel had nearly vomited, pulling away from her and slamming out of the bathroom, not even remembering to zip his fly until he was three blocks down the street. The following morning he had gone down to the courthouse and did something he’d been debating about since long before this whole tragic mess unfolded. Castiel changed his last name to Novak, his grandmother’s maiden name. The name of the one family member he’d ever felt close to.  Then, he canceled the series of lectures he had scheduled at his former university and put his condo and BMW up for sale.

 

When Castiel was a child, his grandmother, Rebecca, would tell him of the summers she’d spent in a sleepy little town with gorgeous green mountain trails and deep lakes. She had encouraged his love of nature, painted a picture of a place that was not only beautiful but a bit spiritual as well. When she passed, it was him that his grandmother left her little secret hideaway to; a picturesque cabin that was kept up by Becky’s old friend Rufus Turner.  After she died, Castiel continued to pay the groundskeeper, not able to fathom selling something that had been so dear to his grandmother, the only one in his family who loved him unconditionally and accepted him for who he was.

 

Becky and Castiel’s grandfather, Dmitri, were not an obvious love match. In fact, Castiel rarely saw them being physically affectionate. But Dmitri was kind to her, though absent, and they led fairly separate lives while together.  Becky had always spoken so fondly of her home in the woods, saying that it was where she felt the happiest. She had wished to share that love with her son, but Levi had wanted no part in it, his only interest had been following in Dmitri’s footsteps. It was unfortunate that he hadn’t inherited his father’s integrity and kindness along with his business sense.

 

The cabin itself was a good size, all open space bookended by two bedrooms, a master and a guest. Both containing large dressers he imagined used to be a set and full sized beds. A spacious living room sported a gingham patterned futon in periwinkle blue and beige hardwood floors that bordered the tiled kitchen. Blinds covered the windows but no curtains, although Castiel wasn’t too worried about those right now. Rufus had left him the key to his grandmother’s storage unit which had some more of Becky’s other belongings; paintings (likely many of Castiel’s own), seasonal decorations, clothing, and bedding, but Castiel had informed him he would be having his own things delivered. He would find the time to go through his grandmother's things himself and decide what to keep and what to donate.

 

Gazing across the lake, Castiel watched as the fog began to dissipate. The sky was still cloudy but the sun was trying to break through. His lips quirked up in a faint smile as the strums of a guitar could be heard just barely carrying across the water. He recognized the song: _Simple_ _Man_. Cas found it fitting, that song, as that was all he wanted to be right now.  Maybe he could be in this small town. _Bear Claw, Vermont, population 1704,_ the sign had said when he drove his rental car from _Burlington Airport._ A simple man, quiet and solitary, as Castiel wouldn’t wish his family’s kind of crazy on anyone he cared about. No one deserved that.

 

The call of a loon had him turning his head, following the sound, only seeing ripples on the water from where the animal must have dove. The song from across the lake changed to a bluesy beat that was just as appealing as the Lynyrd Skynyrd ballad and Castiel closed his eyes, feeling the music in his heartbeat and the bite of the air on his skin. It was the first time he’d really _felt_ anything in a long time and that alone was enough to tell him  that coming to _Bear_ _Claw_ was the right decision.

 

Castiel knew one of the first things he needed to do was hit a grocery store. He didn’t want to live on take-out the whole time he was playing ‘Henry David Thoreau’. Cooking was something he enjoyed when he wasn’t too busy working on a piece, something he hadn’t been doing much of lately. He missed it, the feeling of being gripped by his art.  If he couldn’t stretch out that side of himself the usual way, then creating meals that were appealing in flavor and presentation was something of an outlet, even if only he benefited from the results.

 

The next thing he needed to do was find a truck. Just a simple pick-up truck that was more suited to the country dirt roads than his rental Prius. He’d have to remember to grab a local paper when he went out.  

 

Of course, all of this required Castiel actually leaving the cabin and he really wasn’t feeling up to it. He should make a list, he thought, dragging a hand over his two-day stubble and yawning widely.  He brewed yet another cup of coffee and reluctantly turned on his phone, sighing as it pinged with messages. He forewent those to open his memo pad and started on a grocery list. The rest he’d deal with later.

 

As he walked through the main room he tapped on his phone again and added to the list. _Throw pillows_. The master bedroom had a lovely, wide window seat that had a view of the lake that he could easily imagine relaxing on with a good book and a packed bowl.

 

He tossed his phone on the bed and glanced down at the one suitcase not containing clothes, but filled with books, CDs, and DVDs, the latter useless without his television and blu ray player. He could, however, make use of the shelving unit resting against the wall between the window and the door in the living room. Castiel heaved the heavy luggage onto the futon after dragging it from the bedroom.  He lost half an hour filling the shelves and wishing for his flatscreen and his pipe. No way of bringing that on the plane, so his stash sat buried at the bottom of one of his many boxes that would arrive in a few days. Castiel thought about picking up a pack of cigarettes to get rid of the itchy feeling but it had taken him too long to kick the habit the first time and really didn’t want to have to go through that again.

* * *

  
  
  
Castiel exhaled a stream of smoke, lightheaded and queasy, and more than a little bit disgusted with himself; but, his nerves were calm and the twitch in his fingers was gone.  He flicked his ash into a _Hood_ milk bottle, not able to find an ashtray and not feeling like going outside to the fire pit. Instead, he sat on his porch swing with a brand new pack of Marlboro’s from the Rite Aid ten miles away.

 

Castiel used his free hand to thumb through the notifications on his phone, finally opening up his text messenger. His phone was all he had until he had someone could come out and set up his cable and internet, though he wondered how the service would be out in the woods.  He’d have to call and have someone come out on Tuesday.

 

**Gabriel: sent 3:34 pm yesterday: You arrive in one piece? Stay away from the mountain men. And women.**

 

**Gabriel: sent 6:12 pm yesterday: Seriously? Nothing?**

 

**Gabriel: sent 9:25 pm yesterday: Hey, asshat, msg me and let me know you weren’t run off the road by a rogue moose.**

 

Castiel couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at that one.

 

**Balthazar: sent 10:13 pm yesterday: Jesus fuck, Cassie. Call Gabriel back, his constant texting is fucking with my game. Gisele here is starting to think I’m married and hiding it.**

 

**Gabriel: sent 12:27 am today: You’re a dick.**

 

**Gabriel: sent 12:29 am today: I’m going to bed, asshole.**

 

**Gabriel: sent 8:35 am today: Got an offer on the condo, douche canoe.**

 

Castiel snuffed out his cigarette, tossed the butt into the milk container, and called Gabriel. He answered on the first ring.

 

“Seriously, Cas?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, and meaning it. However amusing Gabriel’s texts were, he knew his friend had been worried. “My phone was dead. I let it charge all night and I just hadn’t gotten around to checking it yet.” It was mostly true.

 

“Yeah, yeah. So how are the wilds of Vermont?”

 

“Brisk,” Castiel deadpanned earning a huffed out laugh.

 

“I’ll bet.  Look, we got a fair offer on your place. Only five k off of the asking price.”

 

“Do it,” Castiel said, pulling out another cigarette and lighting it.

 

“You sure you don’t wanna hold out?”

 

“No. five thousand isn’t going to make a difference. Any biters on the car?”

 

“A few. Got some people who want to give it a test drive, I’ll let you know how it goes.”

 

Castiel took a long drag. “Thanks, Gabe. I really appreciate you taking care of this for me.”

 

“Yeah,” his friend said dryly. “I can tell by the way you’ve kept me updated.”

 

“It’s been less than twenty-four hours since we spoke. Let's not be dramatic,” Castiel said on an exhale.

 

“Are you… are you smoking?”

 

“Gabriel, I have to run out to the store. Let me know how the sale goes,” he said, ignoring the question.

 

“I’m not sitting by your bedside nursing you through chemo when you get lung cancer, moron. And stop mocking me,” Gabriel said making Castiel stop shaking his head and mouthing along with him.

 

“It’s just one pack, I promise. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

 

Castiel put out the cigarette and crushed the milk bottle to put in the trash.  He scrolled through his list again and sighed. He really needed to go shopping. He wished he felt like it but his exhaustion was pulling at him again. Castiel kicked off his converse and tugged off the jeans he’d thrown on to go to the Rite Aid, leaving him in his boxer briefs and tee-shirt, and threw them on the couch.

 

 _Later_ , he promised himself as he made his way back to the bedroom. He laid down, avoiding the springs, and closed his eyes, the sound of a woodpecker coming in through the open window. He was asleep in minutes.

  
  



	2. Tripping Billies

Castiel spent the next few days getting settled in his new home, not venturing out further than the nearest  _ Hannaford’s _ for groceries. The U-Haul had arrived as scheduled on Tuesday and Castiel had relished in sleeping in his own bed. He had mounted his television and set up his blu-ray by the time  _ Xfinity  _ had come to install his cable and landline.

 

The futon was now in his grandmother's storage to make room for his navy sectional and logwood coffee table trunk. Inside the trunk, sat all of his art supplies and he wondered if he would ever use them again. God, how he wanted to, but nothing seemed to spark, nothing pulled him in. Where he used to see inspiration in the world around him,  in every color burst, every spectrum; where he used to find solace in light and shadows, now there was nothing. Everything in Castiel’s life felt muted and flat, a dishwater grey like melting snow on coal-lined streets.

 

Castiel pushed the depressing thoughts away and got into his new truck, or he should say new old truck. It was a 1987 brown Ford-F series, probably wouldn’t last him a year, but the guy he bought it off of insisted that the man who fixed it up, Dan or Dean or something was quite the backyard mechanic and guaranteed, despite the age and miles, she’d do him good. Castiel was fine with it. The truck had character.  She was a little dinged up, but polished and shined, Castiel was proud of her. 

 

Castiel rolled his eyes at himself for waxing poetic about a vehicle and threw the truck into reverse. His first stop was the library, which was fairly quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Only a handful of cars were parked in the lot of the big brick building when Castiel went in to get his _ Bear Claw town library  _ card. A soft-spoken woman named Layla took his information and handed him a keychain card with a pamphlet of events and welcomed him kindly to the town. 

 

The sun was bright when he walked back outside, but the temperature was cool. Castiel ducked his hands into the pockets of his beige trench coat, grateful that he’d thought to grab it when he left.  He tried to picture what the surrounding green mountains would look like in the flush of winter.

He stopped at the town liquor store and splurged on two six packs; Magic Hat and some local craft beer called Thighslapper. There were wood bundles at the back of the store and Castiel bought two, thinking he might use his fire pit tonight while he smoked a bowl under the stars.  He’d have to make a connection in town, of that, he was sure. The eighth that had come stashed in his book collection would only last a few days. 

 

Castiel drove through the center of town passing a Maple Creemee shop which, if he were to go by the picture was some kind of soft serve ice cream and screen printing shop hosting autumn deals. Castiel knew this was the time of year when tourists flocked into this area to see the leaves change. _Leaf_ _Peepers_ was the term he’d heard used.  

 

Castiel enjoyed how the air had a permanent smell of campfire smoke and fresh greenery. It was such a calm pace, quiet, no obnoxious billboards, only a handful of major conglomerate stores. Castiel found the local _Kohl’s_ thanks to directions from the clerk at the liquor store. It was in a plaza with a _Danform_ _Shoes_ and a _T.J. Maxx._ There was a diner called _Harvelle’s_ next to a _Pure Pop Records_ store.  

 

He barely paid attention to what he was buying, just grabbing things in his size off the rack that he knew he’d need. Some long-sleeved tee-shirts, sleep pants and hoodies with a few pairs of jeans, socks, and underwear.  He hoped it was adequate. He’d never experienced a New England winter before, but he’d heard they could be brutal.

 

Right at the entrance to the store, beside the checkout,  was a plushie of Champ, Vermont's version of the Loch Ness Monster rumored to inhabit _Lake_ _Champlain_. Castiel smiled to himself as he grabbed it, knowing without a second glance that it was the perfect gift to cheer up Gabriel..  It looked like an upright friendly alligator that had been dressed in a tee-shirt bearing a _Wild_ _Farms_ _Maple_ _Syrup_ logo; which, of course, meant that Castiel had to go into the next general store he saw and buy some.

 

Castiel put his bags into the passenger seat of his truck and pulled out his cigarettes. He lit up and took a puff. Leaning against the door, Castiel watched the smoke curl up and over his head.  He couldn’t help but feel out of place in his business casual shirt and navy slacks. Everywhere he looked was flannel and denim. The colors in every direction seemed so bright, with the blue sky above the lush green background of the mountains. The landscaped plaza was a rainbow of irises and daylilies, black-eyed Susan's and asters, and next to the lively display, Castiel felt plain and washed out. 

 

He snuffed out his cigarette on the ground and tossed the filter into a nearby trash can.  The scent of fried onions and bacon carried over the breeze and made his stomach growl. Castiel found himself headed in the direction of the diner, thinking he could have a quick meal before he went back home saving himself from having any dishes to do.       

 

Drawn in by sauteed delights and grilled meat, Castiel crossed the parking lot and opened the wide door to the diner. The bell above his head jingled but none of the few patrons eating at their booths bothered to look in his direction. Only the woman behind the counter paid him any attention; a pretty middle-aged brunette with sharp eyes and a hand on her hip. She smiled at him as he walked up to the counter.  

 

“C.J. Krushnic,” she said warmly and his eyes widened. The sound of his former last name was a punch in the gut and Castiel’s blood turned to ice in his veins.  _ How _ ?  His chest seemed to chamber and Castiel could recognize the beginnings of a panic attack.  He didn’t remember sitting down in a booth, but suddenly a cup of black coffee was steaming in front of him and a soothing hand was rubbing up and down his back. A kind voice implored him to breathe.

 

“That’s it, sunshine, there you go. Deep breaths.”

 

“T-that’s not my name,” Castiel managed to stutter out.

 

“I’ll call you whatever you want, honey, just calm down, okay?”

 

By this point, a few heads were turned in their direction.

 

“Hey! Quit your gawking and eat your damn lunch, you nosy Nellies,” the woman barked, the words startling a laugh out of Castiel. He found himself settling down as she,  _ Ellen, _ according to her nametag, sat across from him and reached out to pat his hand. The gesture was too familiar for strangers, but remarkably he was okay with it.

 

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered, words like sandpaper, scraping his throat on the way out of his mouth.

 

”You okay now?” Ellen asked and Castiel nodded. He pulled his hands away to wrap around his coffee cup, taking a deep sip of coffee. It was too strong, but bracing, which was what he really needed.

 

“How did you know who I...how do you know me?” Castiel didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but to come this far away to escape where the Krushnic name volleyed back and forth like a tennis match and still be recognized was disheartening in the worst way.

  
  


Ellen smiled at him, a gentle curving of lips. “Your grandmother was a very dear friend of mine. She was like a big sister to me.” 

 

Castiel cocked his head. “Are you Ellie?” he asked and Ellen gave a dry chuckle.

 

“Ugh, that makes me sound like a pig at the county fair.  I’ll tell ya what. Never call me that again and the name Krushnic will never cross my lips,” Her voice held only humor and Castiel instantly relaxed further.

 

“Thank you. I’m Castiel, by the way. That  _ is _ my given name. But I go by Novak now, my grandmother’s maiden name.” Ellen nodded along as Castiel spoke.  “My grandmother often spoke of you when she talked about  _ Bear Claw _ .”

 

“Your grandmother was a fine woman. I was so sorry to hear of her passing. I would have come out for the funeral if I’d had someone to watch this place for me,” Ellen said regretfully.

 

“Thank you. I’m sure she would have understood.”

 

“You hungry, sunshine? You look like you could stand to gain a few pounds,” Ellen remarked, eying him. 

 

Castiel knew she was right. The stress over the last few months,  _ hell _ the last few years, had made his appetite less than ravenous and it showed in the thinness of his face.

 

“Actually, the smell of whatever is cooking right now is what lured me inside,” he said, a half smile twisting his lips.

 

Ellen leaned her head back and yelled in the direction of double doors leading into what he assumed was the kitchen. “Benny!” and a few seconds later a bearded man in a white grease splattered apron poked his head out.

 

“Yes, ma’am?”

 

“I’m on my break. Bring me two bacon cheeseburgers with-”, she turned to Castiel, “you like onions?” she questioned and he nodded in the affirmative, his stomach growling. “Two bacon cheeseburgers with onions, two fries, and more coffee.”

 

“You got it, Cher,” Benny said with a pleasant Cajun accent.

 

“I have to ask, Ellen, since you knew who I was right away, how crazy am I for thinking I’ll be able to keep a little anonymity here?”

 

Ellen gave him a look that could only be called sympathetic.    

“I am sorry for your troubles.  I can’t even imagine what it’s been like for you,” she said softly. “But honestly, I think you’ll be fine. Becky was a very private person,” Ellen paused when a young waitress came over and placed a carafe of coffee on the table, pulling creamer and sugar packets out of her apron pocket to drop beside it.

 

“Burgers and fries will be up in a few,” the girl said.

 

“Thanks, Krissy,” Ellen said, dismissing the young girl and she waited until she walked away before turning her attention back to Castiel.  “Whenever she spoke of you, she would just call you her _ honeybee Cas _ .  She only referred to you as  _ C.J. Krushnic _ when she would show off a write up about you. Not a fan of getting your picture taken, are you, boy?”

 

“No. I much prefer being behind the camera, or sketchpad, as it were,” Castiel replied with a half-hearted shrug. “Not that it matters now.  Seems like everyone on the west coast knows my face. Anyone in the art world, anyway.”

 

“I imagine the only ones here who might connect the dots, aside from yours truly and Rufus, would be my boyfriend Bobby and Henry Winchester, who passed a few winters ago, God rest his soul. Your grandmother spent her summers here, growing up, as you know. She often let me tag along with her and Rufus. I’ll never forget when I received the letter saying that she was getting married. Sunshine, you could’a knocked me over with a feather.”

 

Castiel poured himself some more coffee and looked at her quizzically. “Was it really so shocking?”

 

“Oh, yes! Becky always said she was never getting married. Had a romantic soul, that woman. Said the only true romances were the ones that were clandestine,” Ellen replied with a grin and Castiel laughed. That he could believe. His grandmother was always reading dime store romance novels. They could be found in every room of her house in San Jose.

 

“Why do you think she did?’

 

Ellen pursed her lips.  “From what I understand, her daddy, your great grandfather, Chuck, was in a bad way financially, and Sasha Krushnic, business tycoon that he was, needed someone to marry his son Dimitri. Something about needing heirs to continue the family line, and he was willing to pay big.

 

“Are you saying my great grandfather essentially  _ sold _ my grandmother?” Castiel was gobsmacked and appalled. He knew that his grandparent's relationship had been odd, to say the least, but this was not something he had ever considered. “If the Krushnics were so well off,  why’d they need to buy a wife? Couldn’t he find his own without having to pay for one?”

 

“From what Becky told me, your grandfather had interests...elsewhere,” she said meaningfully.

 

_ Could she mean?   _ “Oh my God. My grandmother was a… was a  _ beard _ ?”       

 

“Yes. So having a contract of sorts is what worked out best.  Becky was happy to sign an agreement that she not reveal the true details of their relationship,” Ellen grinned ruefully, ”She only broke it to tell me and Rufus. She was quite content, and after that first year of marriage, Dmitri bought her the cabin that is now yours. She came back every summer and it was as if nothing had ever changed. She still went by Novak even though she was a Krushnic.”

 

“If he wasn’t interested in her physically, how did she manage to have my father?”

 

“Do you really want the details on that?” Ellen asked, tone wry, and Castiel decided that he probably didn’t.

 

“Here you go,” conversation halted as Krissy came back with two steaming plates and Castiel’s stomach gurgled again, loud enough that Krissy giggled. “Enjoy!”

 

Castiel took a huge bite of the bacon cheeseburger and groaned.

 

“Good?” Ellen asked, amused.

 

“Mmm, yes. Excuse me, this burger and I are having a moment,” Castiel said over a mouthful of meat and cheese. He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor bursts from the bacon and onions and Ellen let out a throaty chuckle.

 

“Careful, my Godson will tell you they are addictive.”

 

“He would be right,” Castiel said, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser to wipe a smear of ketchup off of his chin.

 

The rest of the meal they spoke of lighter things, Ellen letting him know of local events, where to go to take the best pictures of the fall foliage, the best farmers market in town, and which bar all of the locals hang out at if he ever felt like being sociable.       

 

“ You wanna relax, hear some stories, play a little pool or darts, Winchester’s is the place to go,” Ellen said as Krissy came back to clear their plates.

 

“Thanks for the tip,” Cas started to say, distracted for a minute as a flannel-clad man with a mullet came bursting through the door, with what looked like a-“Is that a joint in his mouth?” Castiel looked at Ellen incredulously and she threw her head back, laughing.

 

“Sorry I’m late, Aunt El,” the man said hurriedly, snuffing out the joint in the palm of his hand. “I was helping Charlie with this new software,” his voice was muffled as he pulled the plaid over his head, revealing a  _ Harvelle’s _ tee shirt.   

 

“Yes. Yes, it is. Why? You need some?” Ellen asked with a wink and Castiel’s eyes must have lit up because she only laughed harder.

 

“You’re forgiven, Ash. Just go make up a welcome bag for my buddy Cas here,” Ellen said, nodding at Castiel. Ash turned to him with a welcome smile.

 

“Well, any friend of Aunt El’s. Nice to meetcha, man,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Ash, and if it’s the ganja you need, you come right down here and see me.”

 

“Ash is my nephew. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s one of the brightest minds you’ll ever meet.  Graduated top of his class from MIT,” Ellen said proudly.

 

Ash snorted. “Yeah, well. I ain’t using my skills for this government, that’s for sure.”

 

“Ash and his business partner, Charlie, design video games. And he also grows the finest MaryJane in the town.”

 

“Sure do,”  Ash said, accepting the praise readily.  “ I’ll be right back with that, got a new strain that’s real chill.”

 

Castiel felt like he’d just witnessed a tornado as Ash went through the double doors of the kitchen.

 

“Ash lives upstairs and has a whole growing room set up,” Ellen said at Cas’ questioning look.

 

“And no one gives you any grief?” Castiel asked, huffing a small laugh. A bellowing from the kitchen prevented her from answering.

 

“You ever coming back to work, woman?!”

 

Ellen whipped her head towards the kitchen doors where an older man sporting a beard and a ball cap leaned out.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, old man, but is it  _ your _ name on the front of this place?” she yelled back. When the man only rolled his eyes and closed the door, Ellen smiled smugly. “That’s just my boyfriend, Bobby. His bark is worse than his bite.”

 

Castiel laughed, “Is yours?”

 

“You don’t want to know.”

 

“Here you go, new amigo,” a hand slapped down on the table, a baby food jar filled with green.  Castiel looked up to see Ash smiling at him. “Let me know how you like it.” When Cas tried to take out his wallet, Ash waved him off. “Consider it a welcome to  _ Bear Claw _ , man. You can get me next time.”

 

When Castiel left Harvelle ’s with a hug from Ellen, he felt a bit lighter. He felt even more so that evening when he relaxed on the farmer’s porch with a magic hat and some of Ash’s homegrown. Full from his meal and almost, _dare_ _he_ _even think it,_ content, Castiel hummed along with the strains of the guitar coming from across the lake.    _Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we’ll die._

 

Though far from merry, Cas figured two out of the three wasn’t bad. __


	3. Mother

Dean Winchester pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut as he tried to listen to his brother Sammy on the phone over the sound of his mother retching. 

 

“Now don’t get mad,” Sam’s voice was placating and Dean grit his teeth. “but I can’t come home for Thanksgiving this year.”  Though his brother's voice was laced with regret, Dean still felt a sharp pang at the news that Sammy wouldn’t be sitting around his dinner table for the holiday.

 

“Well, thanks for the heads up, I guess,” Dean said dejectedly and Sam sighed.

 

“Don’t use that voice.”

 

“What voice?” Dean asked with a scowl.

 

“You know what voice. The disappointed Dad voice, with just a touch of guilt thrown in by thanking me for the news.” Sam’s own voice was a whine that hid genuine apology and Dean rolled his eyes.

 

“Fine. Enjoy your kale salad and your chicken quinoa casserole,” Dean scoffed, covering the mouth of the phone as their mother vomited again, loud enough to have Dean’s own stomach twist.

 

“C’mon, Dean. I promised Sarah I would do Thanksgiving with her family because I’ll be spending Christmas and winter break at home with you,” Sam said and Dean could easily picture his puppy dog eyes shining imploringly.

 

“Yeah, yeah. You bringing her home to meet the family this year?” Dean said, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of dry heaving.

 

“That’s the plan, though she can only stay for a week. Dean? Why do I hear puking? Are you at the bar? I thought you finally decided to take the weekend nights off?”

 

“I did. I’m out at eight on Friday’s and I don’t go back in until mid-morning on Monday, barring emergencies.” Dean had inherited Winchesters from his grandfather, Henry, when he passed, and he was the first to admit that he was a bit of a workaholic.  “Those are just the dulcet tones of mother dearest as she throws up a bottle of tequila and Crowley’s venison stew and gravy fries,” Dean said, not bothering to cover for his mother.

 

“Are you kidding me? I thought she was in rehab?” Sam said, the frown in his tone clear even across the phone. 

 

Dean rolled his head, neck popping as he got up from his kitchen table to replenish his coffee. Dean filled his Star Wars mug that declared  _ Coffee I Need or Kill You I Will  _ and went to stand on his back porch overlooking the lake.   

 

“Self-checkout. Lasted about three days. She’s been on a bender with that asshole Trenton most of the week. Showed up at Harvelle’s drunk off her ass and picked a fight with Ellen. She’s lucky Jody is away at that Sheriff’s retreat or she’d a been in the drunk tank all night.  Ellen had taken her keys and she and that loser walked to the bar. Sent him home in an uber, brought her back here.”

 

“Dean, you should have just dropped her off at home. It’s not your responsibility to take care of her every time she does this,” Sam said for what probably had to be the millionth time.

 

“What am I supposed to do with her, Sam? She’s worn out her welcome everywhere else. If she was just a little drunk I would’a taken her home, but she was so annihilated I was afraid she would choke on her vomit.  Trust me, I don’t like it any more than you do. You think I wanna be sitting here in my work clothes smelling like hard cider and peanuts drinking coffee when I could be sitting in my boxers with a pizza marathoning Doctor Sexy?”

 

Sam snorted and Dean was happy to have made him laugh a little bit. It killed Dean that Sam felt guilty for leaving him behind to deal with their trainwreck of a mother. Dean never felt regret that he took over the family business so Sam could go to school. Not to make it sound all  _ It’s a Wonderful Life _ or anything. There was no mean Mr. Potter making it impossible to leave Winchester’s behind so he could go off and travel. He just never had that bug. Not to say he didn’t enjoy a good road trip. Taking his Baby, his treasured black 1967 Chevy Impala, out on the open highway was a relished pleasure, but he was rooted in  _ Bear Claw _ and had no desire to live elsewhere. Sam was bound for great things. He was at Stanford on a full scholarship, with aspirations of becoming an environmental lawyer, just having secured an internship at one of the most sought-after firms:  _ Joshua Gardener and Associates _ , which he would start right after graduation. California had always been Sammy’s dream, but for Dean, the stability of home is what anchored him.

 

When Dean was just nine, his father John Winchester had his first affair. Mom took off with Dean and five year old Sammy and traveled to Utah, where they stayed for about six months before his dad came and got them, convincing Mary to come home. It happened again when Dean was eleven and Dean remembered being disgusted at his father’s behavior and heartbroken at the light that was going out in his mother’s eyes.  It continued over the years and they’d break-up and get back together. He remembered sneaking out with Sammy to use the telescope on nights his mom was too drunk off of cheap _Arbor_ _Mist_ , or when they couldn’t, turning the TV up in their room as loud as it could go to distract his little brother from the sound of breaking wine glasses and yelling. John used to blame his philanderings on them being married too young and not sowing enough oats. He and his mother Mary had married right after high school when Dean’s mom was just eighteen years old… and three months along with her first son.  Even at thirteen, Dean knew that excuse was bullshit. When Dean was fourteen, his father finally left for good. He married a woman named Kate Milligan, someone he’d been with during a rocky patch in John and Mary’s marriage. They live in Windom, Minnesota with Dean and Sam’s younger brother Adam. 

 

John Winchester was as good as dead to Mary at that point and she kept the distance between Dean and Sam, and their father, by moving them all around so much that they never saw him anyway. Dean had long since accepted the fact that John Winchester didn’t put much effort into remedying that situation. John’s own relationship with his father, Henry, was strained as well, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he never really tried. Mary liked to go on and on about how she had to put her dreams of being an actress on hold to raise two kids on her own, as though her drinking problem wasn’t a contributing factor to the many lost jobs and relocations they had to embark on whenever Mary got fired or cost them their place to live. 

 

When Dean was sixteen, his grandfather, Henry,  managed to track the three of them down in some dusty little town in Texas. Mary had been working at a twenty-four-hour- diner until she got caught drinking on the job. Dean had dropped out of school to work in the local _Food_ _Lion_ to pay for their rent-by-week motel as most of the child support payments from John wound up at _Dave’s Wine & Spirits_. He made sure Sam was able to go to all of his extracurriculars and field trips and he cleaned up after his mother threw up all over the stained shag carpet of their room. Henry was appalled at the state his grandsons were living in and all but demanded Mary move to _Bear Claw, Vermont_ with Sam and Dean or he would take her to court and retain custody of them both.

 

Dean liked to think she went because she loved them and not because she would miss out on the free assistance being a single mom would get her. 

 

Henry set Mary and the boys up in one of his rental cabins but Dean and Sam spent most of their time at their grandfather’s house on the lake. His Grandfather had insisted Dean go back to school and he and Sam were often found spending their afternoons sitting at an old scarred wooden booth in Henry’s bar doing homework. Dean also bused tables and learned everything he could about running the Winchester family business from Henry. When he graduated High School, Henry rewarded Dean with the Impala as long as he agreed to take business classes at the nearest community college, with the promise that someday when the time came,  _ Winchester’s _ would be his.     
  
His baby wasn’t as cherry back then as she was now. Dean learned everything he needed to know about his car from Henry’s good friend Bobby Singer, who quickly became affectionately known as cranky Uncle Bobby. Bobby taught Dean everything he knew about cars in his salvage yard, as he worked there part-time while attending school. Dean would be forever grateful to his grandfather for the solid foundation he had managed to give Dean and Sam after years of instability created by their parents.

 

Over the years, Mary had her ups and downs. There were months when she was completely invested and present and then there were the times when talking to her was either like facing a ghost or a bitter shrew. Unfortunately, it looked like September was set to be the latter.

 

“Well, I look forward to embarrassing you with tales of your misspent youth when she comes,” Dean teased.

 

“Shut up, what misspent youth? I lived at the bar and the library,” Sam said dryly and Dean laughed. They said their goodbyes, promising to talk again later in the week.

 

Dean’s head turned as his mother pushed open the door to join Dean on his wraparound deck. Her eyes were red and watery and her hair was like a yellow birds nest on her head. Her blouse was untucked from her jeans and Dean could smell the sour scent of vomit clinging to her like a noxious perfume. Her hands clutched an oversized mug with steaming coffee that she must have helped herself to when she finished praying to the porcelain gods.

 

Dean could only sigh and shake his head.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Mary grumbled before taking a long sip of coffee. 

 

“Look at you like what?” he deadpanned and Mary shot him a glare.

 

“I’m a grown woman, Dean, I can see whoever I want. What’s your problem with Cole anyway?”

 

Dean snorted. “Other than the fact that he’s a womanizing douchebag who’s half your age? Nothing. That’s your call if you want to date someone like that. My problem is you drinking yourself to the point of not being able to stand then showing up at my bar like a trainwreck. This has gotta stop, mom, you’re gonna kill yourself if this keeps up. I honestly don’t know how your liver is even working after all of these years.” Dean had stopped pulling punches with his mom ages ago, figuring he’d rather have her pissed off at him for telling the truth rather than dead.

 

“I’m sorry my coping methods aren’t to your liking, Dean. I’m sorry you’re content to sit here in this frigid little town, serving your drinks and watching the leaves change. God, it makes me crazy. How does it not make you crazy? Sammy was so smart to get out of here.”

 

Dean took the not so subtle poke at his ambition and felt no shame. He loved his town, he loved running  _ Winchester’s, _ and he was goddamn proud of his brother for following his dreams, and, he was proud of himself for being there for Sam as a  constant in his brother’s life. 

 

“No one is forcing you to stay here, and let’s be honest, mom. You’ve been “coping” for years. You hate it here so much? Sober up and get yourself into a financial position where you can actually afford to move.”

 

Mary laughed, bitterly. “Oh yeah? Easy for you to say considering you inherited this house.”

 

It was true. When Henry passed away, he’d bequeathed his house on the lake to Dean and Sam.  Dean had lived in the cabin his grandfather moved Mary and the boys into rent-free until Sam had gone to school. Dean had been steadily learning the business from Henry and going to school, and with Sammy gone, he had seen no reason to continue living with someone he constantly was at odds with. Instead, he rented a small apartment on the east side of town, close enough to his mother to check up on her, and continued to work at Winchester’s as well as doing some side jobs at Bobby’s when he needed the extra help. By the time Dean was twenty-five, he was running the bar under the guidance of Henry. The plan was always for Dean to take over the business, but the unexpected heart attack his grandfather had when Dean was just twenty-eight sped up that process. It had been five years in August and the loss still made Dean’s heartache.  Moving into the lakehouse had eased his pain a bit. Being in Henry’s space made him feel closer to the man who had essentially rescued him and his brother and gave them a real home.

 

“Nice try, but I’ve been living on my own and paying my own way for years. Hell, I paid _your_ rent that last year until Grandpa Henry found us, so trying to make me feel guilty that he left this house to me and Sam ain’t gonna work. He never made you pay a dime on our cabin. All you have ever had to take care of since we moved here is the utilities. There is no reason why you shouldn’t have money saved if you really wanna take the time to find something you’d rather be doing or another place to live. This _poor_ _me_ crap doesn’t work on Sam, and it sure as hell doesn’t work on me. You’re my mother, and I love you, but we did not create the problems in your life. You and John did that just fine on your own.”

 

Mary stared stone-faced under the porch lights, eyes steady on the lake. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before and Dean knew anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed.

 

“You want a ride home now that you’re not projectile vomiting?” he asked, knowing that Mary would decline.

 

“No, thanks. Ro is coming to pick me up,” Mary said, still not meeting his gaze, though the scowl on her face was still evident in profile. Rowena McLeod ran  _ The Witches Brew _ , a shop that served up tea, coffee, and psychic readings. She was the closest thing Mary had to a friend in  _ Bear Claw _ , though not for lack of trying on other people’s part. His Aunt Ellen, for one, another close friend of the Winchester family, not related by blood but just as much kin. She’d given Mary her first job at her diner,  _ Harvelle’s _ , which she promptly lost when she was caught having sex with a towny in Ellen’s nephew’s attached apartment. Their relationship had been antagonistic at best, ever since. Ellen said that Mary had bitterness about her. Dean looked to Ellen for motherly advice when he needed someone who fit that bill.. It’s not like motherhood was anything Mary Winchester ever aspired for, it was just what she got stuck with.

 

Dean dragged a weary hand over his face. God, he was tired. He was too young to feel this run down. The moonlight shone on the water and the air had a chill. Still, he remained, eyes on the water as his mother went back inside to wait for her ride. When she left without a thank you or a goodbye twenty minutes later, Dean hadn’t moved.

 

Forgetting about his pizza and Netflix, Dean grabbed a bottle of _Woodchuck_ _Granny_ _Smith_ and his guitar, bringing both out back and settling down on his porch swing, and strummed lightly.

 

_ Hush now baby, baby, don't you cry. _

_ Mama's gonna make all your nightmares come true. _

_ Mama's gonna put all her fears into you. _

_ Mama's gonna keep you right here under her wing. _

_ She won't let you fly, but she might let you sing. _


	4. Broken

Dean saw him for the first time, the next morning, his new neighbor...sort of, if you didn’t count the lake in between them. Dean’s house faced the water and a small cabin almost dead center across the lake. From where he stood, drinking his black coffee, breath fogging out before him, he saw the outline of a man, nearly as tall as himself, jog down the back porch of the cabin.  Dean watched the man go through a series of stretches before he set off on the trail along the lake. 

 

_ Bear Claw _ lake was actually more of a watershed or drainage basin. It was only seven miles around, water funneling in through a small tributary crossable by a covered bridge. Dean wondered how creepy it would be if he stayed outside to get a closer glimpse of the man who would be crossing said bridge in about ten minutes. If he was going all the way around, the man would have to cross the small beach area in the front of Dean’s house before the tree-lined trail picked up again.

 

Early morning sunlight spilled over the ground, golds and coppers gleaming, interspersed with lush greens and deep browns.   If he were an artist, nothing could have stopped him from capturing the moment in film, oil, or charcoal. As it was, every time he took a picture with his phone or camera, the magic he saw with his own eyes never seemed to transfer to the finished product. Autumn in Vermont was a sight. As someone not native to the state, he felt a kinship with the wide-eyed leaf peepers who flocked to the green mountain state every year to be dazzled by the foliage. The sights and smells of fall, crisp and woodsy with that hint of spice; it was warm and comforting, like a cozy fleece blanket in front of a fireplace or a hot bowl of tomato rice soup while curled up with a good book on the couch. Dean loved simple, wholesome comforts that made him feel at home. He supposed he always would.

 

It was going to stay cool today, he could feel it on the wind that continued to blow, though lightly. He went inside to his bedroom and dug out a thick hunter green sweater and pulled it over his black undershirt. He tugged on a thick pair of socks and refilled his coffee cup, stepping back outside and leaning against the rail. It looked like his neighbor was entering the covered bridge, footfalls echoing faintly. Dean watched with unabashed interest for the man to emerge from the other side.

 

As he drew closer, Dean couldn’t help but notice that his neighbor was in excellent shape. Strong looking calves and thick thighs that he appreciated were encased in blue track pants. Impressive forearms were on display in a loose white tee-shirt, tousled dark hair that glowed with hints of mahogany when the sunlight hit it was pushed off of his forehead with a rainbow-striped bandana that had Dean grinning. He sure hoped he had warmer clothing than that or he wouldn’t survive the winter.

 

As the man drew closer to the edge of Dean’s beach, he raised his hand in salutation.  He wished he were close enough to see the defined features of the man’s face. Dean could make out a strong jaw and a generous mouth, the long column of his neck. The man glanced up, the expression on his face stoic and unreadable as he gave a barely perceivable nod in Dean’s direction before continuing on his way. Dean’s brows rose in surprise. He thought he’d have at least gotten a wave back, but this man was either really focused on his running, or kind of a dick. He sincerely hoped it was the former.

* * *

  
  


The man ran past Dean’s back porch every day for the next week. Each day Dean waved and every day the man gave that slight nod and continued on his way.  Seeing the man still in clothing far too light for the upcoming cold weather, the nurturer in Dean had to fight the urge to lecture. 

 

Finally, a week later, Dean got to see the man’s face up close. Pissed off and cursing, as Dean was too busy juggling his keys, cell phone, and a  _ Doug’s Daily Grind  _ extra large black coffee to notice the man of his recurring musings coming through the door.

 

“Shit!” Dean cursed as he bumped hard into a solid chest.

 

“Fuck. Mother fucker, that’s hot!”

 

“Dude, I am so sorry,” Dean was horrified after the collision. “Doug? Donna?” Dean called back over his shoulder. “A towel or something? God, man, are you burnt?”

 

The man sent him such an unimpressed look that Dean actually stepped back. Eyes that blazed like blue-fire glared back at him, pink slightly-chapped lips were drawn into a thin line.

 

“What do you think?” the words rolled out, deep and gravelly, evoking images of smoke and whiskey.

 

Dean stuffed his keys and phone into his pockets, grabbing a towel from Doug as he rushed over and began blotting the salmon colored shirt now stained and clinging to blue eyes’ firm chest.

 

“ Stop, stop, stop,” the man said, pushing at Dean’s hands.  “Don’t try and help, you’re just making it worse,” his tone was irritated and a bit condescending and Dean raised his hands in surrender.

 

“Look, man, I-”

 

“Castiel.”

 

“What?” Dean found himself caught up in the heated gaze of arguably the most sinfully attractive man he’d ever met in real life who was rolling his eyes at him like he was a moron.

 

“My name is Castiel, not  _ man _ , and you should pay more attention to your surroundings,” the man censored as Doug continued to clean the floor.

 

“Look,  _ Castiel _ ,” Dean bit out. “I’m sorry. It was an accident. I’m happy to buy you a coffee and pay for your dry cleaning.”

 

Castiel sighed, the sound painstaking and grating on Dean’s nerves. The man may have been hot but it didn’t give him carte blanche to be a dick.

 

“It’s fine. I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head.  “I’m having a bitch of a morning and this just…” Castiel trailed off as his gaze lit on Dean’s once more, and his stormy face turned quizzical. For some reason the invasive perusal made Dean want to blush though the man was only focused on looking at Dean’s face.  “Your eyes are like Autumn,” Castiel suddenly said, immediately blanching, and backing up as though the reverse action would take back the words that had obviously spilled so unbiddenly from his mouth.

 

Dean was flustered, and not quite sure what to do with that. “Um… thank you?” They were both spared more conversation when Doug’s wife Donna bustled over with a fresh take-out cup of coffee for Dean and a wide smile for Castiel.

 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean said with a quick kiss to Donna’s cheek. “Add whatever Cas here is getting to my tab, okay?”

 

“You betcha,” Donna said, smiling brightly as Castiel continued to frown.

 

“No, that’s not necessary, really. I’m not staying. I have to… I have things that need to be done,” Castiel stuttered out and Dean watched as he appeared to nod to himself. Castiel turned around, abruptly, pulling a cigarette pack out of his pocket.

 

“I’m Dean, by the way,” he called out, only to be ignored. “Jackass,” Dean muttered. He watched as a plume of smoke rose as the intriguing man slid into his truck and Dean huffed a laugh out at the irony. He’d just finished restoring the damn thing last month.

 

Dean found himself singing under his breath as he made his way to his vehicle.

 

_ There's something wholesome, there's something sweet _

_ Tucked in your eyes that I'd love to meet _

 

Castiel was gruff, a little bit pissy and awkward, not to mention sexy as fuck… and Dean knew that he needed to know more about the compelling man.

* * *

 

  
  


The next time Dean ran into Castiel was at the liquor store. The blue-eyed angel haunting his dreams was purchasing a pack of Marlboro Reds when Dean came up behind him with a bag of ice and a six pack of  _ Prospect _ .

 

Castiel had a thin, long-sleeved navy blue tee-shirt on and loose fitting jeans with a hole in the back pocket showing a swatch of black cotton briefs. His hair was a tousled disaster of chocolate locks and he smelled of cinnamon and Mary Jane.  Dean could too easily picture himself embracing Castiel from behind and burying his nose in the side of his neck and just breathing him in.

 

Instead, he said hello as Castiel handed a twenty over to the cashier. His back seemed to straighten as the man registered Dean saying his name. Castiel glanced over his shoulder, face serious as ever.

 

“Hello, Dean,” he said in his gravel-laced voice before turning back to accept his change.

 

“How’re you settling in?” Dean inquired, as Castiel stepped aside to let Dean up to the counter with his purchases.

 

“Just fine, thank you,” Castiel said politely and then made to walk out the door.

 

“You know,” Dean called out to him, “if you ever want a tour around town, I’d be happy to show you around.”

 

Castiel paused by the door, looking at Dean with those deep, cobalt eyes, brows narrowed in what almost looked like suspicion, though he could not imagine why.

 

“I’m doing just fine on my own,” Castiel replied gruffly, giving Dean a final stiff nod.

 

“Shaddup,” Dean griped when he heard a snort of laughter from the young cashier. 

 

“Dude. That was brutal,” Kaia laughed again. She was an art student at the community college in the next town over. Dean had one of her sculptures in his office at  _ Winchester’s _ .

 

“Yeah, yeah. Go paint a bowl of fruit or something,” he teased and her eyes widened in mock offense.

 

“Just for that, no free jerky,” she said smartly and Dean ruffled her hair affectionately before he left.

 

Dean leaned against the Impala after putting his beer and ice the back seat, tugging his buzzing phone out of his pocket. Seeing his head bartenders name flashing across the screen, Dean sighed. This couldn’t be good.

 

“Hey Lily, what’s going on?”

 

“Hi, boss man. Sorry to catch you on your day off, but Aaron called out sick and I have to bring May to a birthday party. Would you mind coming in until five when Crowley gets here?“

 

Dean opened the driver’s side door and slid into his seat, shifting the phone to his ear as he buckled his seatbelt.

 

“Yeah, no worries, I’ll be there,” Dean turned his wrist and looked at his watch. “He’s usually in at what? 1:30? Gives me time to drop my shit off at home and I’ll be right in.”

 

“Thanks, Dean.  Aaron felt awful but there was just no way-”

 

“It’s all good, Lily, I’m not mad. Aaron never calls out, so if he is sick, he must be down for the count.  I don’t mind coming in. Sunday afternoons are fairly quiet anyway.”

 

Dean hung up with Lily and drove home, fingers drumming a beat on the steering wheel.  Dean couldn’t help but look in Castiel’s driveway as he drove the winding road around the lake. Not home.  Soon he was pulling into his own yard and made a mental note to check that his leaf blower had enough gas in it. The afternoon sun was bright on the water making it glisten and his eyes stung when he stared too long. Dean made quick work of putting the beer and ice away and was back in the car and on his way to Winchester’s in less than five minutes.

* * *

 

  
  


Dean bypassed the front of  _ Winchester’s _ and drove around back where the employees parked. The building itself was log cabin style with green and an orange roof. His best friend Charlie liked to tease that he was working inside a maple syrup bottle, but he liked it. It was how Grandpa Henry had left it and he wasn’t about to change it now.

 

Dean ducked through the back door, entering through the small kitchen where one of his cooks, Garth Fitzgerald, was prepping potatoes. They didn’t carry a full restaurant menu, just the typical bar food: nachos, gravy fries, wings, and poppers. Pretty much whatever Crowley or Garth felt like cooking ended up on the special’s board. Their beer and cider selection, however, was fantastic.  

 

Dean burst through the double doors that opened to behind the bar with a yell and jazz hands and Lily shrieked, nearly dropping a pilsner glass. Dean threw his head back laughing as the redhead fumed at him, swiping at him with a bar rag.

 

“Nice, Dean. Nice. Scare the one-eyed woman holding a glass. You’re lucky it’s still in one piece, jackass.” Lily’s cheeks were flushed, but there was laughter lacing her voice. Five years prior, Lily and her daughter, May, had been in a horrific car accident. By the grace of God, the baby had been fine, but glass from the windshield had damaged Lily’s left eye badly, to the point where she could no longer see out of it. She wore a black eye-patch most of the time.  

 

“Go ahead, get on out of here. Give the little princess a hug for me,” Dean said, giving Lily a kiss on the cheek goodbye.

 

Dean surveyed the room, noting Marv Metatron and Frank Devereaux taking up their usual booth at the back of the room. Frank was a total conspiracy theorist and Marv was a wannabe author. The two had been collaborating on a tell-all of alien Cover-ups going on three years now. A couple of college-age boys were nursing  _ Budweisers _ and throwing darts.   Dean’s eyes darted to the front door as the bell rang and the sexy, surly face of Castiel walked through the door. Dean smiled widely as Castiel’s eyes flitted to the bar, settling on Dean.  Head cocked, eyes narrowed, he strode up to the bar, a beige trench coat draped over his broad frame making him look deceptively smaller.

 

“Why are you everywhere?” the question hung in the air, frustration clear in the man’s tone, and Dean again couldn’t help but wonder what the hell it was about him that irked Castiel so much. But in true Dean fashion, he just pursed his lips and blew the man a mock kiss.

 

“It’s okay if you missed me, Cas.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes theatrically and sat at the bar with a sigh, pulling his keys, wallet, and cigarettes out of his pocket and laid them on the bar.

 

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” Dean said.

 

“Thank you for the warning, Surgeon General,” Castiel saluted him as Dean threw a coaster his way. “Can I get a  _ Yuengling _ now?”

 

“Just sayin,” Dean said with a grin, enjoying Castiel’s aggravation far more than he should.  The blue fire in his eyes was just too tempting to leave unprovoked.

 

“Does your boss know you often lecture patrons you barely know on their life choices?” Castiel asked with a bite that had Dean fighting a laugh.

 

“Oh, he wouldn’t care,” Dean said knowingly.

 

Castiel arched a brow that had the words  _ Yes, sir, anything you want  _ dancing in Dean’s head. “Are you sure?”

 

“Hey, boss?” Garth poked his head through the double doors and Dean nodded at him, watching as Cas face-palmed and muttered  _ of course _ , under his breath. “We’re running low on limes. Do you want me to call Crowley to pick some up on his way in for his shift?”

 

“Good idea, thanks Garth,” Dean replied before turning back to Castiel. “So, I hear you inherited your rich grandmother’s cabin?”

 

Castiel sighed painstakingly. “There is no way you’re going to just let me enjoy this beer quietly, are you?”

 

“Rufus, the caretaker?” Dean continued as though Castiel hadn’t even spoken. “He took real good care of that place. Man isn’t a slacker. There’s a pretty nice set-up for a vegetable garden in the back if you happened to notice. You all set for furniture? Pretty sure your grandmother’s things are over at Fitzgerald’s Storage,” Dean finished, placing Castiel’s beer on a generic  _ Budweiser _ coaster.

 

“I have my own things coming,” was the short answer and Castiel resumed his blank expression that clearly said he wasn’t interested in any small talk and wanted to be left alone. 

 

_ Meh _ . That never stopped Dean before. “How’d your Grandmother get so rich anyway?”

 

Castiel sighed, leveling him with a non-blinking stare.

 

“She won the lottery,” he said flatly.

 

“Seriously?” Dean drew up short, surprised.

 

“No,” Castiel said, before taking a deep sip of his beer.

 

Dean shook his head, chuckling. “You’re a tough nut, Castiel,” he considered it a victory when the man’s mouth tugged up in half a smile.

 

“So I’ve been told.”

 

Dean decided to give him a break and went to check on Marv and Frank, dropping off two PBR’s and another bowl of Chex Mix. The guys playing darts were still all set. He wiped down a few tables and by the time he finished and made his way back to the bar Castiel was finished with his beer.

 

“Thanks,” Castiel said, throwing down a ten dollar bill. It wasn’t the warmest showing of gratitude, but the glacial tone was gone. “No, keep the change,” Castiel said, waving him off when Dean tried to hand him back his six dollars.

 

“Pretty big tip for one beer,” Dean noted and there went that little half smile again.

 

“Don’t forget the medical advice,” Castiel said dryly, sliding off of the bar stool and picking up his wallet and keys.  He walked out of the door without looking back and Dean grinned. Castiel had left the nearly full pack of cigarettes behind.

 


	5. He Likes Boys

Cas was sketching again.

 

And, it was entirely his fault; Dean Winchester. The man with Autumn in his eyes. 

 

Part of him was so grateful. He wanted to drop to his knees and give thanks that he hadn’t lost such an important part of himself.  Dean Winchester had unlocked something in him and he was ecstatic, euphoric, jubilant… and annoyed.

 

Castiel put the lighter to his bowl and inhaled deeply. He didn’t know exactly why it bothered him so much. Castiel snorted. Now he was just lying to himself. The truth was, Dean intrigued him. He had a light, a bright aura. He was overly cheerful which should be grating when instead it was charming-which was  _ also _ annoying.

 

He exhaled a fragrant cloud of smoke and allowed himself to picture Dean in his mind. Burnt honey hair that looked soft to the touch. A face nearly flawless in its structure with plush, kissable lips that stretched into a generous smile. A smile that made attractive crinkles appear next to his hypnotizing eyes. Bright moss green eyes flecked with gold that reminded him of walking through a sun-dappled forest. Oh, how he could get lost in those eyes if he allowed himself.

 

Not that he would.  For one, the man was more than likely straight, but even so.  Someone that carefree, that bright… he didn’t deserve Cas’ dark.

 

Castiel let his head fall back against the couch cushions. It had started that day when Dean had literally bumped into him outside of the coffee shop. His response to the man had been immediate, an almost visceral response that made him want to take him into his arms and say  _ I’m keeping you.   _ He couldn’t begin to explain where it came from. He’d seen pretty men, been with pretty men, though he would be hard pressed to find one that came close to being as exquisite as Dean. The thoughts that had bloomed in that one instant: sweat-dampened skin, pink lips parted on a sigh, and eyes gleaming gold upon blissful release. He had been shocked.

 

But years of practiced stoicism and armor rose immediately after.  It was more than the famous artistic temperament; it was born of decades of being invisible to his mother and sparring with his father. It was from over a decade of being shamed for the way he looked at men as well as women.  He slipped on his mask of haughty barely repressed contempt on with ease and it was a mask few ever saw beneath. Aside from his grandmother and Gabriel, to everyone else Castiel was acerbic at most times and superficial when it came to human contact. He supposed that was why he and Balthazar got along so well.  Create, fuck, eat, and sleep. That had been his life before Lucifer turned his world upside down. Base. Raw. Or so he thought; until a gaze of October leaves knocked the wind out of him. If he were a romantic Castiel would liken it to soul calling out to soul.

 

Castiel lit up again, feeling a slight burn as the smoke filled his lungs. His gaze fell on the coffee table where his sketchpad lay open, now littered with colored charcoal drawings of luminous autumn eyes.  What he wouldn’t give to sketch all of him, those bowed legs that only seemed to draw attention to how well he fit into his jeans. The freckles that danced along the bridge of Dean’s nose and up the back of his strong looking hands teased him and Castiel wondered if they made constellations across his chest or the inside of his thighs as well.

 

Castiel found himself putting down his pipe to slip his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants. His cock laid heavy against his thigh, thick and full as his thoughts continued to run rampant. Castiel swirled his thumb around the spongy head of his dick, spreading the pearls of precome that had begun to bead there.  Stroking lightly, Castiel imagined how Dean’s own cock would feel sliding against his own.  _ Silky and slick and hot _ . He tugged himself out of his pants and spread his legs wider, one bare foot anchored on the floor, the other propped on the table.  Licking his palm, Castiel resumed pumping his hand up and down his hard member. He bit his lip and his head tipped back, eyes slipping closed.  He imagined Dean’s chest flushed and his long lashes laying like crescents against his skin as Castiel pulled delicious sounds from his perfect lips.  Castiel pushed up into his hand as he stroked, giving a twist of the wrist and letting out his own growl of pleasure. When his mind gifted him the vision of Dean’s cock pulsing ropes white sticky seed across his chest, Castiel came with a guttural cry.    

* * *

  
  


Castiel discovered over the next two weeks that he was a glutton for punishment. He saw Dean on nearly every morning run. Dean always waved and Cas always nodded when he really wanted to run right up to him and kiss his stupid pretty face and have him for breakfast.

 

He went to  _ Winchester’s _ for a beer in the afternoons and sketched Dean’s hands pulling from a tap in a sketchpad he hid inside of an Architectural Digest magazine.   He knew it could be considered creepy and stalkerish, but he couldn’t stay away even if he tried. 

 

He found himself arriving at the bar in the evening as opposed to the afternoon on Thursday, having spent the majority of the day going through his grandmother’s things in storage. He found some of his own artwork and box of what looked like private letters between Becky and someone who only ever signed  _ always, your love.  _ Castiel had brought them back home and put them in his nightstand to look at at a later date, not quite sure he was ready to read about that part of his Grandmother’s life.

 

Castiel sat at the bar watching as equipment was set up because, apparently, there was karaoke three nights a week at  _ Winchester’s _ . 

 

Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen chatting with Crowley, a Scotsman who told indecent jokes, flirted madly with Dean which irked Cas to no end,  but who also made the best bourbon chicken wings that Castiel had ever eaten.

 

The sound of the door banging open carried over the chatter as an attractive young blonde woman ambled up to the bar. Dean pushed away from the kitchen doors and raised a brow at her.

 

“Joanna Beth,” Dean said and Castiel cocked his head, wondering who she was to Dean.

 

“You know what today is.” It was a statement, not a question, and the manic gleam in Joanna Beth’s eyes told Cas this was clearly something of importance

 

Dean sighed, painstakingly. “C’mon, Jo. Is it really necessary?”

 

“Oh yes,” Jo said.

 

Dean stole a quick glance at Castiel at the bar and he made a show of looking at his magazine that he’d once again brought with him.

 

“You know, if you had forgiven me like you said you did, then I doubt you’d feel the need to do this,” Dean said reproachfully but Jo only cackled.

 

“Yeah, you’d think that.”

 

“Alright,” A man Cas had heard Dean call Chuck said nervously into the microphone. “Next up we have the lovely Jo Harvelle! Let’s give her a nice round of applause.”

 

Harvelle. Castiel wondered if the girl was related to Ellen. Castiel watched as Dean shook his head when Jo strutted up to the raised platform at the back of the bar.  Strangers clapped politely, but those who Castiel had come to know were regulars were cheering loudly and Jo raised her hands waving her laced fingers like a champion.

 

Dean busied himself with wiping down the bar and seemed to be studiously ignoring the looks his customers were shooting him.

 

Of course, Chuck shining the spotlight on him didn’t help.  Appearing to give in, Dean sighed and cracked himself open a  _ Yuengling _ and raised it in salute before taking a long pull.  Before Dean could notice that he was staring Castiel stopped his fake reading and turned his barstool towards the stage, head cocked, curious about what he was going to witness.

 

“Good evening, everyone!” Jo said to the crowd. “As per tradition, I dedicate this song to our gorgeous bartender and owner of this fine establishment,” she paused for the regulars to applaud and whistle. ”Dean Winchester, who too many years ago to name, dumped me on my seventeenth birthday!”

 

Dean rolled his eyes as the patrons booed good-naturedly and wagged fingers at him. Castiel turned to him with a raised brow. 

 

“You dumped that poor girl on her birthday?” his voice was unamused and Dean groaned.

 

“I had my reasons.”

 

Castiel just rolled his eyes and looked back at Jo, the music from the karaoke machine starting up.

 

_ “Sexy hair, gorgeous smile _

_ He's the most perfect guy I've come across, in a while _

_ Sensitive, real sweet _

_ He even watches Desperate Housewives, with me,” _

 

“Doctor Sexy,” Dean called out, and the audience laughed when Jo continued to sing while flipping him the bird.

 

_ “My heart’s beating like a mini drum, I told my best friends he's the one _

_ I said I think that I'm in love this time, they told me something that could change my mind,” _

 

The words trailed off and Castiel snuck a peek at Dean only to find his gaze resting on him.

 

_ “He likes boys, finally now it's all making sense _

_ He likes boys, I like this guy but he's on the fence _

_ He likes boys, I can't believe this happened again _

_ He likes boys ooh oh oh boys ooh oh oh,” _

 

Castiel turned slowly in his stool until he was facing Dean, mouth open as he floundered. “Y-you’re gay?” he finally managed to sputter and Dean raised his bottle again took a swig.

 

Dean arched a brow in a challenge as if wondering if it was going to be a problem. “Yep. Quite a thing to come to terms with when you’re down to your skivvies and about to deflower your best friend.”

 

Castiel gave him a pained look. “Ouch. For both of you, I imagine,” Castiel raised his own bottle and angled it towards Dean’s for cheers, which was met with a rueful smile.

 

“Yeah, well, it took her about five months to talk to me again, but she came around. She kinda had too, we’ve been best friends since I moved here.”

 

“Ah, so you were grandfathered in,” Castiel teased and he realized that this was the longest conversation they had ever had without him scowling. When had he let his guard down? A hint of panic fluttered in Castiel’s stomach.

 

“I guess so. Have  you tried the diner on Main Street yet, because if you’d like-”

Castiel threw up his hand so fast that Dean backed up a bit.

 

“Look, Dean, I’m flattered,” Castiel began, heart pounding in his ears, “but I’m honestly not interested in a relationship right now.”

 

“Wow, slow your roll, buddy. I was talking as friends,” Dean said and Castiel blanched.

“Oh. Oh God, I’m sorry, I just assumed-”

“Assumed what? That because you're hot as fuck I can’t control my gay urges?”

“What? No, I-”

“You think I’m going to invite you to dinner and hope to get into your pants?”

 

“Not at all, Dean, I’m sorry. I’m just used to-” Castiel stopped his flustered explanation when Dean started laughing.   _ What the fuck? _

 

“Dude, I’m just messing with you,” Dean said, wiping at his eyes. “I was totally going to ask you out,” he said, laughing even harder at the shock on Castiel’s face. “What? You’re sexy as sin and a total mystery. Of course, I was going to ask you out. But you’re obviously not interested in men or just not interested in me,” Dean shrugged good-naturedly.

 

“It’s not you, honestly,” Castiel hurried to reassure him. “I’m interested in people regardless of gender. I’m just not… I don’t do relationships.” Castiel said regretfully because  _ God _ was it hard to turn down the person who made his heart skip literal beats; who had become the star of his every dirty little fantasy.

 

“Well, are you in the market for a friend? Because honestly? You uh, you look like you could use one,” Dean bit his lip, looking like he hoped he hadn’t overstepped.

Castiel couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on his face if he tried, especially when Dean was staring at him with those soft, autumn eyes.  God, he was so very fucked.

 

“I think I’d like that, Dean,” Castiel said softly, going against his own warnings to himself, unable to resist the temptation to know this man just  _ a little bit  _ more. The crowd cheered, jolting them out of their staring contest.

 

Jo sauntered up to the bar and Dean made the introductions.

 

“Jo Harvelle, Castiel….wait,” Dean narrowed his brows at Castiel adorably, “what’s your last name?”

 

Castiel laughed lightly. “Novak. That was very well done, Ms. Harvelle,” Castiel said politely.

 

“It’s just Jo, sweetie, and thank you,” she said with a flirty little wink that had Dean rolling his eyes.

 

“Back off, maneater, this one is unavailable,” Dean teased, but Castiel swore he heard a gentle warning underneath. 

 

She sighed. “All the good ones are,” Jo said, reaching into the bowl of popcorn on the bar.

 

“Are you related to Ellen?” Castiel inquired and Jo smiled brightly.

 

“You know my mom?”

 

“I had the pleasure of meeting her when I first moved into town. Her diner has the best Bacon cheeseburger I ever had,” he said.

 

“Pfft,” Dean scoffed. “Wait til I make you one, Cas,” he said and Jo snickered into her drink.

 

Castiel stood up, abruptly, folding his magazine, but not before tearing off a strip of it and writing his phone number down with the little keno pencils on the bar. He handed the slip of newspaper to Dean and when he glanced at it, he smiled widely.

 

“I have to go. But call me and we can grab dinner,” Castiel said, proud his voice was steady as he made a decision. “I think I do need a friend, Dean, if the offer is still on the table?” 

 

“Of course, ” Dean said. Castiel nodded and pretended not to see the looks that Jo was giving the both of them.

 

The more he thought about it, Castiel decided he could do this. He could be friends with Dean and not let it lead to anything more. It was risky, but  _ damn _ if Castiel wasn’t lonely and Dean was so effervescent and light and Castiel couldn’t help but crave having some of that sunshine spill over onto him. 

 


	6. 3 AM

 

__

_“How’s it going in syrup country, Mrs. Buttersworth?”_

 

Castiel rolled his eyes as Gabriel’s voice came through the speakerphone.  

 

“ _Mrs. Buttersworth_ originated in California,” Castiel deadpanned as he surveyed the canvas on his easel critically. He wasn’t even sure what it was yet. He only knew that he’d woken at one-thirty am with a need to paint...something. Varied greens ranging from moss, forest, and peridot interlaced with gold and copper in twisting vines curled over a slate grey rock formation he’d knifed in using yellow, grey, and sienna.  

 

_“Aunt Jemima, then.”_

 

“Chicago,” Castiel murmured as he dabbed in a bit of purple and blue Clematis.

 

 _“Then what the hell brand of syrup is from Vermont?”_ Gabriel asked, frustration lacing his tone, much to Castiel’s amusement.

 

“Vermont Maple Syrup,” Castiel said dryly. “Did you not read the bottle I sent you with Champ? Now, why are you calling me at…” Cas craned his head to look at the cable box. “Three-fifteen in the morning?” Castiel had draped a blanket on the hardwood floor before setting up, wishing he didn’t have to use the living room to work, but when the sun rose, it would give the best natural light through the bay window.

 

 _“It’s only 12:15 here, Cassie_ ,” Gabriel said in his sing-song voice and Castiel huffed.

 

“Right. So who cares if I was sleeping,” he said, stepping back again to look at his work and deciding which color to use as a base for the river bank, going with warm ash which he blended with a touch of barn red.  The edges of his fingernails were getting embedded with color. It had been a _long_ time since Castiel had worked with oil and he made a mental note to pick up some _Fast Orange_ when he went out that day.

 

 _“Were you_?” came Gabriel’s reply and Castiel could picture the smirk on his face as surely as if he were standing right in front of him.

 

Castiel sighed as he rolled his neck and rotated his shoulders, muscles sadly aching because of disuse. Before the Lucifer scandal, Castiel could go hours without feeling a thing until he finally put down his brushes or charcoals, but after a year plus of not working, his neck ached from his habit of cocking his head and he had a little knot in the back of his right shoulder blade from continuously holding his arm out.

 

“Obviously not, since I’m talking to you. What do you want? I’m busy here,” he said gruffly as he carefully used his fan brush to pull sunbeams from the top right corner across the canvas to create the look of dawn breaking over the rock-lined river bank.

 

 _“Don’t tell me you already have an overnight guest?”_ Gabriel teased and Castiel cursed at himself impatiently when Dean’s sinful face passed through his mind.

 

“If you must know, I’m painting,” Castiel said, picking up more white to tone down his yellow.

 

“Really?” Gabriel’s voice went from teasing to sincere as he congratulated Castiel. “That’s awesome, buddy, honestly.”

 

“Yeah, well. It’s just a landscape, but it’s a start.”

 

 _“Can I ask what inspired you?”_ Gabriel’s question had him picturing Dean’s autumn eyes.

 

“The colors here are beautiful,” was all Castiel could say but that seemed to be enough for Gabriel. “Now why are you really calling?” Castiel asked as he wiped off his brushes.

 

 _“Your dad dropped by my house tonight,_ ” Gabriel’s words had Castiel nearly dropping his palette. “ _well, last night now, technically speaking-_ ”

 

“Gabriel! What did my father want?”

 

_“Essentially? To know where you were. I doubt it’s made the Bear Claw Gazette-”_

 

“The Growler,” Castiel cut in and Gabriel paused.

 

“ _For serious?_ _Never mind.  It’s been all over the news here. The last of his clubs are going under. He mortgaged out Purgatory to pay legal fees and he’s just not making enough to cover the payments. My guess is he wants to try and hit you up for money again.”_

 

“Probably. Obviously, you didn’t tell him where I was,” it was a statement, not a question and he could picture Gabriel nodding as he concurred.

 

_“Of course not. But I wanted to tell you as soon as I could so you’d have some notice if the jackass somehow figured it out and showed up.”_

 

“I appreciate that, Gabriel,” Castiel said, stretching his hands above his head. He was finally starting to feel drowsy again. A few puffs off of his one-hitter and he’d probably slip right back into sleep.

 

They said goodbye with promises to speak soon. Castiel sat down on the couch with a sigh. He’d wanted to go out and take some photos today, but Gabriel’s news had his stomach turning and made him want to hide away at home.  Castiel lifted the lid of his trunk-style coffee table, taking out his _Nikon,_ his one-hitter, and his bag. He’d just re-upped with Ash a few days ago and this new hybrid was definitely a favorite, relaxing him, but not leaving him too out of it.

  


He put the television on and bounced between the travel channel that was playing some ghost hunting show and the music station, stopping there when a _Matchbox 20_ song came on.   _It’s 3 am I must be lonely_ , humming to himself, Castiel inhaled, head falling back to the couch and exhaling on a sigh and a light cough. He wished he could exorcise his own ghosts, figurative though they may be.  He’d stood up to his father, but Levi Krushnic actually approaching Gabriel about him meant that his father was either desperate or he didn’t take Castiel’s previous refusal seriously or perhaps, it was both. It didn’t matter. He was done letting his father and his brother take from him. His soul was raw and his heart was bruised but he was healing and they would never steal pieces of his self-worth again.

* * *

 

  


“Two.”

“Twelve.”

“Fifteen for two,” Dean said, moving the silver pegs along the board and then glancing up with a grin. “So you lived in California but you don’t want to talk about your work, and if I look you up on the internet you’ll drown me in a vat of maple syrup? Is that what you’re telling me?”

 

Castiel looked up from studying Dean's hands, trading the tantalizing sight of freckled skin and strong fingers to meet a gaze reminiscent of a forest glen.

 

“Yes, that’s what I am telling you, “ he said flatly. “ Twenty.”

 

“Twenty-six,” Dean said with a huff of laughter and Castiel had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling.

 

“Thirty-one for two,” he said. “Extremely thick maple syrup,” he said gravely and Dean tossed his head back as he laughed. Castiel was entranced by the column of his throat.

 

“You know Cas, you’re making it hard to get over you,” Dean teased and Castiel rolled his eyes even as his heart skipped a beat, taking a sip of his _Magic Hat._

 

Castiel had taken to visiting with Dean in the afternoons once or twice a week. It was slow that time of day. Dean would serve his regulars and either Garth or the dramatic, overly flirtatious Crowley would be cooking in the back. Not flirtatious with him, but with Dean. The comments often made him scowl and he would have to school his expressions considering he had absolutely no right to care who the fuck made tasteless, idiotic passes at his new friend.

 

 _Friend_. It was weird to think of it. Dean was his friend.  They would play Cribbage while it was quiet and chit-chat. Well, Dean did most of the chatting, but Castiel was fine with that. Dean didn’t seem to mind his one-word answers or his surliness. If anything, it only seemed to make the man try harder to draw him out. Most would have given up by now.

 

“I’m sure you’ll survive, Winchester. Didn’t I overhear Crowley offer to… what was it? Lay you down in a bed of roses?”

 

Dean laughed again, eyes crinkling and Castiel itched for his sketchpad. “Ah, Bon Jovi.  Classic.”

 

Cas couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out and he shook his head, exasperated, with Dean or his own response, he couldn’t be sure.

 

“Have you two ever, um,” Castiel cleared his throat as he shuffled the cards for the next deal and trailed off and Dean raised his brows.

 

“You know Cas, if you can’t talk about it, then you probably shouldn’t be doing it,” Dean said with mock authority.

 

“Fuck off,” Cas said, chuckling again. “Seven,” he said, laying down a card.

 

“Seventeen,” Dean said, dropping his own card down. “And to answer your question, yes. He was my first official boyfriend after coming out.”

 

Castiel’s brows rose at that. He had expected one night stand maybe, not a first love relationship. He cleared his throat as he dropped his jack. “Twenty-seven.”

 

Dean pursed his cupid’s bow lips and surveyed his cards before shaking his head. “Go.”

 

Castiel threw down his four. “Thirty-one for two.  How long were you together?”

 

Dean folded his arms and leaned into the counter and in Cas’ space. “Quid-pro-quo, dude. I’ll tell you about my first boyfriend if you’ll tell me about yours.”

 

“Alright,” Castiel said, a little pleased when he was able to surprise Dean by acquiescing.  “You first.”

 

Cards momentarily forgotten, Dean replenished Cas’ beer and refilled his own ginger ale. A quick check of the bar showed Marv and Frank were still nursing their _Budweisers_ , so Dean began talking.

 

“Well, I had met Crowley at this dance club my friend Charlie dragged me to. We had to get Ash to make us fake-IDs to get in,” Dean laughed, his expression fond. “Crowley was the bartender at the time. He knew right away that I wasn’t twenty-one but he let us hang out anyway.  He’s a good ten years older than me and being eighteen at the time, I was kind of drunk on the attention of a mature man. I liked kind of, I don’t know, shocking people by dating him? And he liked being able to have a twink on his arm,” it wasn’t said with any malice, but amusement. “We weren’t in love, but we had fun. Then Hannah came along.”

 

“Who’s Hannah?” Castiel found himself scrunching his forehead in confusion.

 

“Crowley’s wife,” Dean said with a grin. “I couldn’t compete so I magnanimously bowed out of the relationship so he wouldn’t have to feel bad for breaking it off.”

 

“Are you sure he’s happy with that decision?” Castiel asked, tone doubtful and just on the edge sour, which only had Dean laughing again.

 

“Well, he does invite me over for some threesome action, but sharing has never really been my thing,” Dean said with a wink and Castiel glared at him in annoyance as the thought of Dean’s lips, Dean’s skin, sliding against someone else knotted his stomach. Again he had to remind himself that he had no right to these feelings of possessiveness. “Don’t be jealous, Cas. You had your chance, but you wanted none of this awesomeness,” Dean said, gesturing to himself with a playful smirk gracing his lips.

 

“I don’t know what to say, I guess I have a hard time dating modest guys lacking in confidence,” Cas said, sarcasm lacing his words.

 

Dean refilled the bowl of mixed nuts the two of them had been polishing off and studied him with a steady gaze.

 

“What kind of people do you date, Cas?” the question came out innocent enough, but Castiel could see the burning curiosity behind those green and gold eyes.

 

Castiel leveled him with an even look of his own. “The kind who don’t stay the night,” he said bluntly and Dean whistled.

 

“Commitment not really your thing, huh?” Dean asked and Castiel couldn’t help but think that he heard a wisp of disappointment in the tone.

 

Cas tilted his head and tugged at the lobe of his ear as he thought about how to answer.

 

“I didn’t have the best example of a loving relationship growing up,” he finally settled on. “And then later, with my career… it’s just really hard to be able to trust that anyone truly wanted _me,_ and not what I could do for them.”

 

To say Castiel was shocked at his own honest answer would be an understatement. He felt like he was yielding bit by bit, like he was the wax to Dean’s flame; warming him up until his walls were all but melting away. This man with his endearing smile and quick laugh was _so very dangerous._

 

Dean scratched the back of his neck and sent him a look so full of understanding that his breath caught. “Yeah, I know a little something about that, too. Mom and Dad didn’t exactly give me and Sammy the apple pie life either; but,” Dean clapped his hands and brightened his tone, “that is a depressing tale for another day.  Now, I must kick your ass in this game,” Dean scooped up the cards and shuffled again.

 

It wasn’t until later that Castiel realized Dean had never held him to his end of the bargain, and he was willing to bet it wasn’t because the soft-hearted man had forgotten.

 


	7. Vertigo

Castiel chewed on his nail as he stood back to study his work. A dense, thick forest stretched out before him on the canvas. There was a sense of movement in the branches as they bowed, seeming to reach inward toward the center with gnarled bark-covered fists. Leaves and needles in varying shades of green appeared to be quivering either from fright or the wind. Throughout the thick maples and pines, tiny, slitted golden eyes peered out, like fairies playing hide and seek. Watching from the trees; watching him.  This painting represented why he had left California, how lost and alone he had felt, even while surrounded by people, paparazzi, critics, fans...all chasing him, all wanting to know what it was like to be C.J. Krushnic. Were his images haunting because he shared some of his brother’s twistedness? Did he feel a pull towards darkness? All eyes on C.J., no matter how deep into the woods he had hidden. 

 

Castiel blew out a shaky breath but ultimately smiled. It was shockingly freeing, seeing his inner emotions and fears expressed in deceptively warm fall colors. Almost as though he were releasing the feelings and giving them an eternal send-off.

 

Castiel gave a self-deprecating laugh at himself for waxing poetic but didn’t judge himself too harshly. After being so long without a muse, having it back made him giddy.  He heard his phone ping as he washed his brushes. Cas wiped his hands on his paint-splattered tee-shirt before picking up the phone to check the message. Before he could even open the first one, his phone sounded again.

 

**Dean: sent 4:47 pm today: Hey, what are you up to tonight?**

 

**Dean: sent 4:49 pm today: Why did I even ask that. You don’t do anything. Tonight.  My house. Burgers. Bonfire. Possible campfire songs. Drive or jog your fine ass on over here.**

 

Butterflies kicked up in Castiel’s stomach at the playful demand from his new friend.   


_ You: sent 4:52 pm today: You spelled PLEASE wrong. _

 

Despite his teasing reply, Castiel was already headed into his bedroom to pull out a loose navy cable knit, a plain white tee-shirt and a pair of jeans out of his drawer. He would change after a quick shower.

  
  


**Dean: sent 4:54 pm today: You can’t see me but I’m rolling my eyes. Please come for burgers and a bonfire, oh grouchy one. I’ll even supply the herb. Yeah, yeah, Ash is chatty.**

 

“Jesus Christ,” Castiel muttered with a soft laugh.  Speaking of, he figured he had enough time to smoke before he jogged his way over to Dean’s house. Cas packed his bowl at the kitchen counter while he waited for his kettle to boil for tea. The pungent smell of the green was soon overtaken by the calming smell of spiced chai. If he planned on spending the evening with the man who starred in his daily masturbatory fantasies, he wanted to be as relaxed as possible. Castiel wasn’t naive. He could have Dean if he wanted- and  _ oh, _ he wanted. Dean was stunning, in that way that made his stomach twist and his heart beat faster with both lust and affection. Dean looked at him in a way that made him nervous, like Castiel was  _ important,  _ and not because he was rich or famous in the art world, but just because Dean wanted to get to know  him-the real him. It was getting harder and harder to find a reason not to let him.

 

Castiel went outside and sat at the little table on the farmer’s porch and chuckled lightly to himself as the strains of _Bad_ _Blood_ carried across the lake. He hadn’t taken Dean for a _T-Swift_ fan. The breeze ruffled his hair, but considering it was always disheveled anyway, Castiel couldn’t be bothered to try to tame it.  Barefoot and in just his tee-shirt and sweats, Castiel shivered as he blew out a wisp of fragrant smoke. It was deceptively bright out, afternoon sunbeams filtering through the trees and giving the water the illusion of a golden sheen. But the air was chill and crisp, and rapidly cooling his tea.

 

He finished his bowl and sat with his tea until his toes became too cold to stay outside.   Castiel took a lingering shower, feeling warm and floaty, and brought himself off with a gasp of Dean’s name. He dressed in the clothes he’d already laid out, slipping on socks and his converse.  He had a light five o'clock stubble that he didn’t bother shaving.

 

Cas was disappointed to find he didn’t have much in the way of a gift for the host aside from a bottle of tequila and a bag of weed-infused Gummi bears that Castiel never knew he needed in his life until recently. He tucked the bears in his pocket and carried the bottle of  _ Patron _ by the neck as he locked his doors and headed out.   

 

Pine needles and twigs crunched along the trail under his sneakers and Castiel breathed in the earthy smell of petrichor and pine and maple leaf litter.  The steady hum of insects and trilling chitter of a wood thrush added a deeper harmony to the faint notes of  _ Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds  _ coming from Dean’s house.

 

Castiel’s footsteps echoed as he began to cross the covered bridge, taking a minute to peak his head out of the high windows. Underneath him the lake rippled in the wind, sparkling more than gleaming gold from this vantage point. He tried to imagine his surroundings in the full bloom of autumn, just a few short weeks away and imagined he’d be taking quite a few photographs.

 

When the trail opened up to Dean’s beach, the smell of frying bacon and chocolate-actually  _ not _ a bad combination-hit his nose and his stomach growled. The music was louder now, a pleasing indie soft rock sound and Castiel could hear Dean singing along from his open window.

 

_ “Something in your eyes _ __   
_ Makes me want to lose myself _ __   
_ Makes me want to lose myself _ __   
_ In your arms _ __   
_ There's something in your voice _ __   
_ Makes my heart beat fast _ __   
_ Hope this feeling lasts _ _   
_ __ The rest of my life.”

 

Castiel grabbed the railing of a short brick staircase to keep himself steady and grounded and paused to just listen, rooted to where he stood.

  
“ _ If you knew how lonely my life has been _ __   
_ And how long I've been so alone _ __   
_ If you knew how I wanted someone to come along _ _   
_ __ And change my life the way you've done.”

 

Dean’s smooth baritone had something fluttering in Castiel’s belly as he soaked in the soulful lyrics. He was jolted out of his daze when the music abruptly stopped and was quickly replaced by an  _ American Hi-Fi  _ song _.  _ Cas jogged up the stairs which opened onto a small patio with a large grill that was currently smoking, and a portable fire pit surrounded by round wicker chairs with crimson cushions.  Dean’s home was beautiful. A two-story craftsman style house with the wood painted olive green and the trim, shutters, and a gorgeous wrap-around porch standing out in bright cranberry. On the second floor, he could see a small balcony that housed a small glass-top table and two wicker chairs with the same crimson cushions as the others. Castiel imagined it was Dean’s bedroom, and what a lovely view that must be overlooking the lake at all times of the year.  

 

_ “Yeah you get me high _ __   
_ I'm feeling so low _ __   
_ How far will you let me go _ __   
_ Yeah you get me high _ __   
_ I'm feeling so low _ __   
_ Knocked out by the vertigo.“ _ __   
  


  
  


A wide glass slider with just the screen closed appeared to be the only barrier between Castiel and Dean’s distracting voice.  He made it to the top step just as Dean came out with a tray of vegetables on skewers, kicking the screen door to the side from behind with the sole of his boot and shuffling through the door ass first.

 

_ “Nothing means a thing when you’re cold and grey _ __   
_ I'll fall behind you _ __   
_ I'll make the same mistakes with same old lies _ _   
_ __ When I can't even fly-” 

 

Dean broke off with a wide smile as he saw Castiel leaning against a cranberry-colored post holding the bottle of tequila, not seeming the least bit embarrassed at the fact that his private concert had been overheard.

 

_ Damn,  _ he looked good, was all Castiel could think as Dean stood there in a plain black tee-shirt with a long-sleeved green and black plaid shirt open, and a pair of dark-wash jeans that hugged his bowed legs. Castiel couldn’t help his slow perusal, lingering on those legs that he had daydreamed about more than once; falling open, cradling Cas’ thighs as he thrust- _ Jesus fucking Christ, get a grip,  _ he mentally scolded himself and arched a brow at Dean as he attempted to affect a mocking expression.

 

“I didn’t realize I’d been invited to alt-rock dinner theater,” Castiel said loftily and Dean rolled his eyes before tugging him in for a one-armed hug.  The enticing scent of woodsmoke, pine, and  _ Dean _ was dizzying.  _ Vertigo _ , indeed, Castiel thought wryly to himself.

 

“Haha, smartass. Let me throw these on the grill and I’ll give you the tour,” Dean cocked his head, eying the bottle of  _ Patron _ in Cas’ hands. “You know I’m a bartender, right?” he teased.

 

Castiel shrugged. “My gift-giving skills are a little rusty, but it is customary to bring the host something.” he reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of Gummi bears. “I brought these too, for later.”

 

The laugh Dean gave was full-bodied and beautiful and Castiel wanted to clutch it in his fist and keep it for a while. Instead, he waited while Dean added the veggies to the grill, then allowed himself to be pulled inside by a strong, gentle hand.

 

* * *

The slider led directly into the kitchen and Castiel’s first thought when entering Dean’s home was  _ warmth _ .  __ In the rich tones of the hardwood flooring, in the inviting look of the rustic brick walls interspersed with cranberry tiles. The cabinetry was a homey moss green and there was a butcher block table with a Formica top in harvest gold with cranberry flecks.  To the far right of the large kitchen sat an oval table in the color of molasses with high-back cushioned chairs. Castiel could see and smell the mushrooms sauteed in one pan next to another with bacon still popping even though the burners on the stovetop were turned off. A platter of handmade burger patties sat resting on a cutting board, though the hint of chocolate he’d honed in on earlier was nowhere to be seen.   

 

“What a beautiful space,” Cas murmured as Dean took the tequila from him and placed it in the fridge to chill and came back out with two hard ciders; the granny smith flavored one Dean had introduced him to last week.

 

“Thanks. My grandfather Henry and I designed a lot of it together. Used to be just plain wood paneling and beige everything else,” Dean said with a laugh. “Before we came to live in  _ Bear Claw _ he was pretty much on his own and lived at the bar.” Dean placed his hand on the small of Cas’ back and led him into the living room, which was divided from the kitchen by a half wall. Dean picked up a remote and clicked a few buttons, turning down the sound system and leaving  _ Adele _ playing on low volume.

 

“Is your grandmother passed?” Castiel asked as he perused the photos on along the divider wall. Dean with an older, handsome gentleman who had his arm slung around his shoulders. Castiel guessed Dean was in his early twenties in the picture. Another depicted Dean next to a behemoth of a man holding a diploma who Castiel guessed was Sam. There was a picture of Lily from the bar holding a sweet-faced toddler, both of them embraced from behind by another redhead who looked to be dressed like some sort of knight slash queen ensemble. The last photo was older. Dean was probably around sixteen or seventeen. He sat on the hood of what Castiel recognized as Dean’s Impala before she regained her former glory. His head was thrown back in laughter as a young woman Cas recognized as Jo seemed to be hitting Dean’s brother up the backside of his head.

 

Dean joined Cas over by the picture. “Ah. My baby before she shined. Sammy was telling non-stop knock-knock jokes and Jo had had enough,” he chuckled lightly. “And yes, to answer your question, my grandmother is gone. I never actually knew her. I didn’t even meet my Grandpa Henry until I was sixteen.”

 

Castiel arched his brow. “There’s a story there.” It was a statement more than a question as Dean led Castiel through the living room, past a gold-colored sectional with jewel-toned throw pillows, past a built-in entertainment center with a flat screen television mounted on the wall. 

 

“There is,” Dean said with a nod, before flashing Cas a charming smile. “I share you share?” Dean asked as he gestured to a little hall off of the living room.

 

Castiel only hummed, making no promises as Dean showed him the guest bathroom and attached laundry room before leading him up the staircase to the second floor.  The hardwood continued throughout and the halls were painted the same cozy moss green as the kitchen cabinets. 

 

“This used to be me and Sammy’s room,” Dean said, opening a door to a large bedroom with window seats and a skylight that Castiel would kill to have in his cabin. A queen bed set with simple furniture in dark oak inhabited the pretty space. “It’s not really used much unless Sam is home from school, which happens less and less now that he has a girlfriend.” There was sadness in Dean’s tone, but Castiel could also detect the pride. They passed another bathroom and framed photos lining the walls.

 

“That ’s my grandparents,” Dean said, gesturing to the smiling couple sitting in the porch swing that Castiel recognized from Dean’s wraparound. “She was the light of his life. She died when my dad was about sixteen and I guess things were never really the same. He and my grandfather… they handled the grief differently. Grandpa Henry just kinda shut down, threw himself into work, and my dad… well, he got the hell outta dodge as soon as he could. They barely spoke after that.”

 

Castiel laid a brief hand to Dean’s shoulder before continuing on the tour. “My favorite room of the house,” Dean said with a wink and Castiel rolled his eyes as they entered Dean’s bedroom. Here the brick theme returned. A large king sized bed sat in the middle against the back wall covered in a thick comforter of navy and green plaid. There was a fireplace directly across from the bed on the opposite wall and large blush colored floor rug. Castiel took a deep breath as he was enveloped in Dean’s enticing scent. There was an overstuffed beige recliner with an old guitar laying across it as if just left there after an interruption. A laptop lay on the nightstand next to a pair of reading glasses that he immediately wanted to see Dean in. To the left of the room was an ensuite bathroom and peeking inside Cas saw a glassed-in shower stall and he nearly groaned at the sight of the deep jacuzzi tub that could easily fit three.  Castiel noticed there were a few pieces of art on the wall as well. A black and white picture of an Asian man tucked up close to a black-haired man with tattoos along his neck, the only pop of color was the gold cat-like eyes of the Asian man and the swirling blue light in his palm. Another frame depicted a print of Hogwarts Castle. Dean scratched the back of his neck as a pretty pink blush stained his cheeks.

 

“I, uh...I’m a big fan of science-fiction and fantasy. Those two pieces are fanart. It’s amazing what fans can create, you know?  This one, though,” Dean said, leading Castiel into the bathroom and pointing to a frame on the far-side wall, “this is one of my favorites.  I found it in a bin at the flea market over in Rutland.” Castiel sucked in a breath, head swimming a little bit as he saw his own work staring back at him.  It was print of one of his early pieces. An angel sat under the moon on a half-submerged slab of rock, knees drawn up tight, arms wrapped around herself. Her ethereal face was tipped back, cherry red lips parted on what looked like a gasp as waves broke and sprayed behind her.  Her hair was a riot of long curls that gleamed silver under the moonlight as wide, almond-shaped eyes were flashed open with blinding light. The angel’s bent and broken crimson wings had jagged wounds dripping like black oil.

 

“Do you know who painted this?” the question came out harsh, accusatory and he didn’t wait for an answer, not really wanting to know if Dean had been humoring his anonymity the whole time.   

 

“Naw, man. I took it out of the frame when I brought it home, thinking I could look up the artist, check out their work, but it’s just the print.”

 

Castiel never thought he’d be grateful to someone for pirating his work.

 

To the left of the bedroom were the doors to the balcony Castiel had spied outside and he found himself pushing the doors open and stepping out to take a deep breath. He’d been right, the view was spectacular. The lake glimmered in the dying sun and the sky was beginning to bleed gold to orange to pink and he took another cleansing breath as his heart rate began to settle.

 

“Castiel?” Dean’s voice was concerned and the hand at his elbow gentle. “Are you okay, man?” The genuine concern in Dean’s voice did much to settle his nerves and he made an effort to clear the unsettled look from his face and did what he did best when it came to talking about himself and changed the subject.

 

“Tell me more about how you came to be here?” Castiel said instead of answering and he knew he didn’t imagine the flicker of disappointment that crossed Dean’s handsome face. Again, Dean proved to be a saint by not pressing.

 

“Sure, but let’s head back downstairs so I can get those burgers on the grill, okay?” Castiel gave him a grateful smile and he closed his eyes as Dean cupped his cheek with his palm, thumb gently rubbing at his unshaven stubble. It wasn’t a touch that said friendship, but it did say  _ I can be patient  _ and it made Castiel want to weep. Instead, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded.

 

“Okay,” he rasped, opening his eyes and meeting autumn green and gold. “Okay,” Castiel repeated and knew Dean understood.

  
  



	8. Happy Birthday to You

“You know, I didn’t really believe you when you said your burgers were better than Ellen’s,” Castiel said before taking a humongous bite and groaning in the most sinful way.

 

Dean nodded knowingly. “Like an orgasm in your mouth, right?” Dean asked and Castiel choked. Dean slapped Cas’ back as he laughed. “The secret is the little cube of herbed butter in the middle of the patty. Thank you, Food Network,” Dean said with a chuckle, before taking a healthy bite of his own.

 

He was happy to see that Castiel looked relaxed. They’d opted to eat in the kitchen as opposed to the dining room.  Fresh ciders sat at their sides along with a plate of grilled squash and zucchini, cheeseburgers smothered in mushrooms and bacon, and a hefty side of sweet potato fries.

 

“How the fuck do you eat like this all of the time and still look like that?” Castiel’s tone was almost disgusted as he gestured to Dean’s person. Dean laughed, amused and flattered. “Seriously.” Castiel continued. “Every time I see you with something in your mouth, it’s either covered in cheese or gravy. Meanwhile, I have to run at least five times a week,” he grumbled as Dean continued to snicker.

 

“Hey, I made veggies. And honestly, that’s only cause you mostly see me at work and I’m eatin’ whatever Garth or Crowley makes for the days special. I’ll have you know that I do eat chicken and fish and other healthy crap.”

 

Castiel stared at him with an arched brow. “Other healthy crap,” he deadpanned back to him and damn if snarky Castiel didn’t do it for Dean.

 

“Yeah, well it wasn’t until I moved here that I was able to broaden my palette beyond macaroni and cheese with hot dogs.”

 

Dean watched as Castiel’s adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed, fingers flexing against the table, and the actions spoke of hesitance. Sooty lashes lifted and Dean was locked in a stormy blue gaze.

 

“You…,” Cas cleared his throat, “you mentioned inside about your father and your grandfather. Is your mother around?” he asked with an inquisitive head tilt that seemed to be a habit.

 

Dean chuckled, swiping a hand across his mouth. “In a manner of speaking,” he said and Castiel merely waited him out. “Okay,” Dean said, placing his hands on the table. “Long story short. Boy meets girl. Boy gets girl pregnant with yours truly. Boy marries girl then cheats on her MULTIPLE times,” Dean gives Cas a sarcastic grin which he returns all the while looking at him like a sympathetic blue-eyed puppy.

 

Dean wet his lip then blew out a breath. “I caught him fucking some waitress in our living room when I was nine. Son of a bitch forgot I had a half-day from school.  Sammy had morning kindergarten at the time and was going to spend the afternoon at his friend Brady’s house, but I was old enough to stay home alone.”

 

“At nine?”

 

Dean shrugged. “They knew all I did was sit on my ass and play Nintendo when they weren’t home,” he paused to take a bite of his burger, though the subject matter made it a little hard to swallow. “Anyway, I hid in my room to call my mom. She got into a screaming match with my dad after she came home, and then she packed us up and we took off. It took him six months to find us, though I don’t know if it’s because she hid us that well or if he just didn’t look right away.” Dean got up, grabbing dishes and waving Cas away when he tried to help. He needed to move around while he told this story and he could see that Castiel understood that as the man sat back down, lifting his chin a little in a subtle nudge at Dean to continue.

 

“So, this happened off and on over the years, during which Mom really began to self-medicate with whatever pinot grigio was on sale that week. He eventually left for good when I was fourteen, got himself a whole new family and my mom kept us traveling around all over the place because she couldn’t hold down a job. People tend to frown on being intoxicated at work, you know? “ Dean said and Castiel winced, offering him a sad smile.

 

“We didn’t see much of our dad. He was pretty busy with the family he _actually_ wanted.” Dean shook his head with a bitter laugh as he rinsed the dishes and loaded the washer. He came back with a washcloth to wipe down the table and Cas lifted his forearms and cider off of the table. They silently moved from the kitchen to the living room and settled on the sectional angled towards each other as music played softly in the background.

 

“I can actually relate to that a little bit,” Castiel said with a humorless laugh. “Fidelity was never my father’s strong suit, though to be fair, my mother never acted as if it affected her at all. She is very...detached.”

 

Dean tipped the neck of his cider bottle towards Cas’ and toasted. “To A plus parenting,” and Castiel laughed in solidarity with him.

 

“So, you came here when…” Castiel prompted, head dipping forward a little with his words.

 

“When I was sixteen I had dropped out of school to work. We were stuck in some small town in Texas and mom lost her job again after she was caught drinking on her shift, so I started work at the grocery store down the road from the week-by-week flop we were renting. Sammy was pretty pissed at her about that.  Me having to leave school to do her job and take care of both of them. Their relationship is still pretty fractured because of it,” Dean blew out a breath. “Then, one day my grandfather, whom I’d never met, showed up out of the blue.”

 

Castiel raised his brows. “That must have been shocking.”

 

“Yeah, it seems he’d been looking for us everywhere after he found out what happened. Apparently, Kate, Dad’s new wife, thought he oughta know.  Started trying to get Dad and Grandpa Henry talking again, I guess. He shows up at our motel room and I was at work and mom was sleeping off a hangover,” Dean began to chuckle.

 

“What’s so funny?” Castiel asked with a curious smile stealing across his face at Dean’s laughter.

 

“Sam wouldn’t let him in until he showed his license and registration. Then he refused to even speak to Henry until he called me home with a _family emergency._ A lawyer, even at twelve years old.”

 

“So what happened then?”

 

“Basically, Henry told my Mom that she was moving us out here, or he was calling child services and he would take us without her.”

 

“So you moved here and went back to school?” Cas asked and Dean nodded.

 

“Oh yeah. Grandpa Henry insisted. He set us up in a house, rent-free, and we lived there but Sam and I spent a lot of time here.”

 

“May I ask if your mother ever stopped drinking?”

 

“Sometimes. She’s been in and out of rehab. If you ask her about it, her life is all very _Riding in Cars With Boys._ ” Castiel tilted his head in his typical fashion. “Drew Barrymore?” Dean said in response to Castiel’s continued blank look.  Dean shook his head in mock shame to which Castiel punched his shoulder lightly. “We need to work on your pop culture knowledge, Cas. Basically, to hear her tell it, she gave up on her dreams for a man who didn’t appreciate her and kids she didn’t want.”

 

“No one can make you give up your dreams but you,” Castiel said, voice gruff and smokey and Dean appreciated the sentiment.

 

“I agree. And I have told her so on many occasions. “

 

“And her response?”

 

“Usually to call me ungrateful and tell me how I could never understand. Actually, I’m surprised you haven’t met her yet.  There’s usually a scene between us at least once a month at the bar,” Dean said. “She’s gonna love you,” Dean said, draining the last of his cider, “she’s into hot, moody, younger men,” he said with a salacious wink.

 

“I’ll be sure to try and resist,” he said sarcastically and Dean appreciated him going along with his need to joke to get through all the heavy. Castiel reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of gummies again, offering them and when Dean threw his head back laughing, Castiel smiled at him, pink lips stretched wide, eyes crinkled at the edges.  To Dean, it was like the sun.

 

Dean reached in and snagged a few, recognizing Ash’s handwriting on the plastic baggy, and knew it wouldn’t take long for them to kick in. He popped a red bear in his mouth and eyed Castiel, wishing he knew how to unlock whatever it was that kept him from opening up to Dean in the same way that Dean just had.

 

“Do you trust me, Cas?” Dean finally asked, softly and Castiel searched his gaze, head cocked and eyes so vulnerable it made Dean’s heart _ache_.

 

“I want to,” he whispered.  “There are many things I wish to unburden to you, but I fear that were you to know who my family is, you’ll never look at me the same.”

 

Dean swallowed hard and took Castiel’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “How do I look at you now?” he asked, wanting to know what Castiel saw in Dean’s eyes.

 

“Like you see me,” he said simply and Dean melted a little bit at that.

 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Dean leaned in close enough that he heard Cas’ breath hitch. “It’s because I do. I know that you’re smart and that you’re tough. I know that you’ve been hurt in a way that keeps you closed off and untrusting. I know that underneath that snark I enjoy so much-” Castiel huffed out a soft laugh at that, “is just a cover for a kind and sensitive soul. Someone who puts up with Marv and Frank’s crazy questions with humor and without making them feel stupid. Someone who swings by the diner to keep Ellen company while she’s working-yes, I know about that,“ Dean said when Cas looked busted. “I also know about how you donated money to the children’s library and community center’s art program. Small town,” Dean said with a shrug as Castiel’s mouth dropped open in shock. “My point is, whatever you're running from? It’s not gonna chase me away, Castiel. When you’re ready to trust me, I’ll be here. ‘Nother drink?”

 

Castiel nodded, looking overcome with emotion and Dean squeezed his hand again before going into the kitchen to get the surprise he had been hiding out of the fridge. He put the cake on the table and popped a few candles in it, then took the grill lighter that was laying on the kitchen counter and lit them.

 

Dean peering into the living room where Castiel sat, apparently lost in thought. “Hey, Cas, can you come here for a sec?”  

 

Castiel stood up and came around the couch and walked towards the kitchen. When he saw Dean with the cake his eyes widened as his mouth fell open, and Dean knew Castiel had to be wondering how the hell Dean even found out.

 

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Ca-as.  Happy birthday to you,” Dean sang softly as Cas stared wide-eyed and just a bit teary.

 

One moment there was silence in the kitchen, and the next Dean had his arms full of warm, strong, sexy Castiel. He was assaulted by the scent of spicy cinnamon faintly laced with marijuana as Cas clung to him and buried his face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

 

“You made me a birthday cake,” Cas whispered against Dean’s skin and in turn he wrapped his arms around Castiel tightly, running his hands up and down his back soothingly.

 

“I made you a birthday cake.”

 

“How did you even know?” the words were muffled but Dean still heard them.

 

“Remember when we exchanged licenses to show each other our blue steel?” Dean teased and Castiel snorted, pulling back to look him in the eye.

 

“You mean when you said my license picture looked like a mug shot?”

 

“Yeah, then,” Dean said and Castiel laughed, a watery sound, but still beautiful. “You look good, old man,” he teased.

 

Castiel chuckled harder now. “Just cut me a slice, you fucker.”

                                    
  



	9. Run Like Mad

The fire crackled, woodsmoke curling upward with fire-red embers sparking alongside, the scent reminding Castiel of the few heady moments in Dean’s arms. He’d always heard the romanticized term,  _ safe in your embrace, _ but he’d never felt it before. The heat of Dean’s body enveloping him as he’d buried his head in his neck. The firm press of his broad hands to his back as he’d held Castiel tight to his chest, providing warmth and comfort without even needing to know why it was necessary.  There was something to be said for being held by another man as strong, thick and solid. Equals.

 

Sitting in the comfortable cushioned chairs outside, side by side, they sat with steaming mugs, forgoing the tequila for hot coffee and a shared joint.  Music played lowly in the background, streaming through the screen door of the deck and he could hear the moody strains of Garbage playing.

 

“So, I know it’s early, but I wanted to give you plenty of warning so you couldn’t find any excuses,” Dean said, voice tight as he held his hit in his chest.

 

Castiel raised his brow, intrigued. “Go on,” he said, accepting the joint, not able to resist brushing their fingertips.

 

“So number one.  I have to work on Halloween night and the bar will be hosting its annual costume party. I figure five and a half weeks is plenty of time for you to get your costume together, “ Dean said resolutely as if it wasn’t even a question that he would be there. Castiel laughed, the sound ringing out across the water and surprising himself.

 

“I love how you say that as if I’m going,” he said, laughing all the more at Dean’s affronted expression.

 

“Come, on.  Everyone will be there. Ash, Crowley and Hannah, all the regulars. My mom will hit on you, it’ll be fun,” Dean said, eyes sparkling with amusement in the firelight. “First prize is bragging rights and a fifty dollar gift card to the bar,” Dean waggled his brows and Castiel rolled his eyes.

 

“Slick. So you essentially don’t lose any money. Greedy,” Castiel teased, knowing Dean was nothing of the sort. 

 

Dean laughed loudly. “Dude, I’m fucking frugal,” he said around a cloud of smoke. “That was one,” Dean held up a finger,  joint in his grasp and Cas made the grabby motion. Dean was one of those smokers who you sometimes had to remind to  _ puff, puff, pass. _

 

“That was one what?” Castiel asked, already forgetting what they were talking about, and snickering. Ash’s homegrown was so much better than expensive ass shit he used to get from Balthazar.

 

Dean gave him a look that seemed to say  _ seriously _ ? As if he were so much more sober than Castiel when he certainly was not. “Warnings so you couldn’t make excuses to get out of it. The second thing is Thanksgiving.  I don’t know if you’re planning on flying back to California,” he said, a hint of hesitancy in his voice, “but I wanted you to know that I’d like it if you came here for dinner. Ellen, Jo, and Bobby will be here along with Lily, Charlie, and May, and my younger brother Adam-”

 

“You’re in contact with Adam?” Castiel asked, surprised.

 

“Yeah, well. My issues are with my dad, not Adam. I don’t have to be close to John to have a relationship with my little brother,  you know? I mean, initially I was standoffish, but then I thought, what if it were Sammy, and some bitter kid was mean to him for something out of his control and how mad I would be. He’s a good kid, Adam. In med school studying to be a pediatrician.” The pride in Dean’s voice for his siblings had a lump forming in Cas’ throat. 

 

“Sam and Adam are very lucky to have you for a big brother,” he rasped out and Dean smiled at him warmly, a slow curve of his lips.

 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean’s voice was gruff with gratitude as he accepted the praise with a flush to his face faintly visible, even in the light of the fire.

 

For a moment they were quiet, passing the weed back and forth and listening to the ripples of water against the shore.

 

“There are things I need to tell you,” Castiel said, finally, taking a drag of the joint and passing it back as he came to a decision. 

 

Dean’s brows winged up in surprise. “Okay. But only if you’re ready, Cas. I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.

 

Castiel exhaled a cloud of smoke shakily, turning to fully face the man who’s kind heart had melted his own. His open expression as he waited for Castiel to continue was nearly his undoing. “You have to stop looking at me like that,” he said, tremulously. 

 

“Like what?” Dean asked, smile as gentle as his voice.

 

“Like you would do anything for me,” Castiel said desperately, watching as Dean licked his bottom lip, tugging at it with his teeth as he searched Cas’ gaze. 

 

“Who's to say I wouldn’t,” he whispered, bare emotion broadcasted clearly on his heart stopping face.

 

Cas stood up abruptly, fingers wrenched in his hair, surly turning his disheveled locks into a birds nest.  Dean leaned back, watching him calmly, as though he had all of the time in the world.

 

“You don’t know that,” Cas hated the quiver in his voice. Hated that this man had the power to make him vulnerable, but too far gone on him to walk away.

  
  


“Here, take this,” Dean handed him the joint and Castiel took a deep pull, holding the smoke in his lungs, focusing on the burn instead of the nervous pounding of his heart. “Now, just tell me, don’t over think.” 

 

Castiel blew out and looked at Dean through the haze, silent but for the soft waves and _Jann_ _Arden._

 

_And_ _every voice inside my head is telling me to run like mad_.

 

“Have you heard of Lucifer Krushnic?”

 

Dean furrowed his brow in confusion. “The Romeo Killer? What does that sick fuck have to do with you?”

 

Castiel sank back down into his chair and leveled Dean with a grave look to which he responded by taking his hand and lacing their fingers. Cas felt his lips curl up in a half smile at the gesture despite the subject matter.

 

“That sick fuck is my brother.”

 

The pop and hiss of the logs echoed loudly in the silence as Dean processed the information, eyes wide with shock, lips parted on a soundless reply.

 

Finally, “I’m sorry. That must be incredibly hard on you.”

 

Castiel didn’t know what to say. He supposed he expected a bigger reaction than that. Shock maybe. Horror. Not sympathetic autumn eyes looking at him with endless tenderness. Dean seemed to understand as he cupped Castiel’s cheek with his free hand, thumb rubbing gently against his stubble.

 

“I’ve never been close to my family. I told you my mother was cold. Well, compared to my father and brother, she is a fleece blanket,” he said in a weak attempt at humor.  “They liked to take turns either ostracizing me and acting like I didn’t exist or going out of their way to let everyone know I was a disappointment and how disgusting it was to have a cock sucker in the family, my father’s words,” and he gave another small smile at Dean’s muttered  _ asshole _ .

 

“Did you have any clue at all that your brother was,” Dean did the swirly finger against his temple in the universal sign for crazy town and Cas snorted out a laugh.

 

“You mean did I have many missing pets or dead animals in my backyard growing up?” Castiel asked with a raised brow and Dean shrugged sheepishly. Cas shook his head. “Nothing like that. He was cruel in other ways. Starting rumors about people to ruin their reputation, gaining someone’s trust only to blast all of their personal secrets on social media, that was more Lucifer’s style,” Castiel scrubbed a hand over his face.

 

“I’m an artist,” Castiel continued and Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. “Pretty successful, actually. Well enough to live comfortably anyway.  But after Lucifer’s arrest…all these articles started coming out.  _ Is C.J. Krushnic stable? Does he have a sociopathic side? Are his darker themes a twisted cry for help? _ ”

 

Dean laid a hand on Cas knee; he hadn’t even been aware he was bouncing it, nervously.

 

“My work was still selling, but suddenly it wasn’t because someone valued my artistry or vision, it was because the paparazzi turned me into a joke, just a sideshow to the circus that was my brother.” Castiel could hear the bitterness dripping from his tongue and could do nothing to quell it. “Then, my father, who has done nothing but belittle and mock me for who I am, who  _ disowned  _ me as a son because I dare to be a queer, had the nerve to come to me for money to help pay lawyer fees for my murdering son of a bitch of a brother.”

 

“Jesus Christ,” Dean muttered, hand rubbing soothing circles into Cas’ thigh.

 

“They both took everything from me.  My sense of self, my  _ muse _ , no fucking way were they getting my money too.“

 

“What was your breaking point?” Dean asked. “I mean, what was it that made you finally say that’s it. I need to leave. I need to change my name and just get the hell outta dodge?”

 

Castiel shifted his gaze, not really wanting to see the look on Dean’s face when he spoke.  Cas cocked his head to the side and scratched at his ear.

 

“I was being… let’s say _taken care of,”_ Castiel finger quoted, sneaking a glance at Dean who had huffed out a laugh at the phrase,“ by a woman in a semi-public space, when she made it clear that she hoped I was as disturbed as my brother. I was sick to my stomach. I just left her there in the bathroom stall and got the ball rolling to leave. I changed my last name to Novak after my grandmother, had my manager, Gabriel, sell my condo and my car, and came here.”

 

“I’m really sorry, Cas, but you have to know, sharing blood with someone doesn’t mean you’re destined to be like them. Hell, if it did, then I’m screwed too,” Dean said and Castiel met his gaze. “Alcoholic mom, deadbeat dad; we’re more than the genetics we inherit from our parents, Cas. It’s probably good that you got away, even if it’s only for a little bit, to clear your head and, I don’t know, reset yourself. But don’t let your father and your brother steal your joy, or your muse, or whatever,” Dean finished and Castiel wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around the man, blown away by his kindness and encouraging words.

 

“I haven't created anything in over a year, you know? I couldn’t pick up a brush, a pencil. No photographs, nothing.” He shook his head sadly before lifting his eyes to Dean’s. “And then I met you,” Cas said affectionately.

 

The smile that lit up Dean’s face was blinding and put the stars to shame and Cas wished for his camera right then and there.

 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean asked, pleased. “You gonna draw me like one of your french girls, Cas?” Dean asked with a wink and blew him a kiss and Castiel laughed. He laughed long and hard until tears leaked from his eyes and his guffaws turned to sobs. Woodsmoke and pine enveloped him as strong arms banded around him and long fingers carded through his hair.

 

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to Castiel’s crown. “I promise, Cas. You’re gonna be just fine.”

 

They stayed, embraced under the stars for a long time, swaying to the soft music and Castiel would look back later and realize that this was the moment. This was the moment he knew that his feelings for Dean went well beyond friendship and lust and remarkably? The thought didn’t scare him nearly as much as he thought it would.

 


	10. Slow Hands

To say Castiel felt lighter would be an understatement. He had told Dean his story and his friend hadn’t run away. Instead, he proved to be the generous, caring man Castiel had already come to know him to be. Dean looked at him the same as always, only now with an added intimacy that insisted,  _ I know you, I recognize your heart. _

 

After Cas had recovered from his emotional breakdown, Dean had quickly changed the subject, seeming to know that Castiel needed a break from the heavy conversation. The topic smoothly switched from dysfunctional families to Cas’ work. Dean wanted to know all about his art and when Castiel had sheepishly shared that he was, in fact, the painter of the framed art in Dean’s ensuite bathroom, he’d dragged Castiel back inside to sign it. 

 

Over the next few weeks, Castiel worked, feeling inspired like he hadn’t in ages. Dean didn’t pressure him or ask him about what he’d been up to, just the fact that Castiel was smiling more seemed to be enough of an explanation for him. But, he played songs in the evening that carried across the water and became the background music of Castiel ’s sessions. He texted links to pictures of Cas’ works with a guess at what he had been thinking during the process of creating it. Dean was eerily accurate on many of his guesses.

 

Sometimes, he’d just text him random things about his day like:  _ I’m babysitting May tonight.  _ Followed quickly by:  _ I’m not wearing any make-up.  _ Followed yet again with a selfie of Dean in a tiara with bright red lips, candy pink blush, and sparkling purple eyeshadow. The caption read,  _ Oh crap, I’m a painted whore. _

 

Castiel’s favorite part of his new routine was Friday nights. Take-out and movie night at Dean’s house. They never did more than hug, often cuddled on the couch under blankets, sharing bottles of cider or wine. Castiel was enjoying the slow pace, never really having that before. Taking the time to really know someone. Cas learned that Dean had a secret love of gory horror flicks, life-sized Jenga which was more fun than Castiel had ever thought possible, and Malec fanfiction.

 

_ “What the hell is a ‘Malec?” Castiel asked, using finger quotes that had Dean rolling his eyes and pulling his phone out of his back pocket.  He watched as Dean tapped the screen a few times before turning it to face Castiel.  _

 

_ “That’s Malec.”  _

 

_ Cas watched as a gif of a beautiful, incredibly well built Asian man practiced some form of martial arts with magic sparking across his palm while an equally gorgeous, tattooed, dark-haired man watched on. He recognized them as the same couple framed in Dean’s bedroom. _

 

_ “Huh. Understood.” _

  
  


He attended a couple of bonfires and met some more of Dean’s friends. The often spoken of Charlie Bradbury, Max Banes, one of the mechanics from Bobby Singer’s shop, and Crowley’s wife, Hannah, who seemed too sweet and innocent to be with the slightly vulgar man.  That was until one saw them leer at each other.

 

Max had feelings for Dean, that much was obvious. Castiel wondered if they had ever tested the waters. He didn’t notice any longing looks stemming from Dean, and Max was a bit younger than the bar owner, so Castiel was fairly certain whatever romantic desires on the young man’s brain were unrequited. It didn’t stop Castiel from making sure he left the bonfire  _ after _ Max. The way Dean smirked at him seemed to say he knew what was behind Castiel’s stalling at the end of the night. Crowley, outright laughing at him, definitely did, along with the helpful advice to _ ‘piss or get off the pot’. _

 

Charlie was a fierce creature, who didn’t shy from telling Castiel that he better have her best friend’s interest at heart.

 

_ “Dean sure has a lot of best friends,” _ Castiel had teasingly responded, referring to Jo, Lily, Crowley… the list went on. Charlie had simply looked at him for a moment.

 

_ “Dean is one of those people who would give you the shirt off of his back if you needed it. For as long as I have known him, he’s always put others first; his mom, his brother, his friends.”  _

 

Charlie had told Castiel how it was Dean who had introduced her to Lily, that it was Dean who offered a job to a single mom in desperate need of money and stability. 

 

_ “Don’t play with him, okay? Because once Dean cares about you, that’s it, you are now a part of his life, and like everyone else, he will put you before himself. He needs someone who will look after him for once.”   _

 

Castiel didn’t begrudge her the warning. It actually made his heart swell that his affections were held by someone who inspired so much loyalty by so many.

 

* * *

 

Halloween came upon  _ Bear Claw  _ quickly. Decorations littered storefronts and he had purchased more bags of buy one get one Snickers minis than he felt comfortable saying out loud.  It was enough that he had added another lap to his morning run. Dean had also made him drive out to the Walmart forty minutes away to buy longsleeved thermals, declaring him shockingly unprepared for the coming cold months.

 

_ “Flatlander,” Dean muttered with the shake of his head. “Six for two,” he moved the peg two spots.  “You’re gonna fucking freeze to death you keep jogging in those track pants.” _

 

_ “Fifteen for two. And what did you call me?” Castiel narrowed his eyes, connecting with Dean’s mossy green depths. _

 

_ “A flatlander. You know, a tourist. Someone not from here.” _

 

_ “Ah. How long do I have to live here to not be a flatlander?” _

 

_ Dean snorted. “Dude, I’m still a flatlander and I’ve lived here seventeen years;  but, I’ve lived here long enough to know that you need more to protect your balls from frostbite than rip-away pants.” _

 

On the way back there was an impromptu stop at a farm all decked out for the season. Castiel had found himself on a hayride to find the perfect pumpkin and clutching a souvenir cup of hot apple cider. __ Later when they carved the pumpkins, Dean complained Castiel’s natural artistic skills gave him an unfair advantage. 

 

_ “You’re just mad that I created a realistic looking spider and  _ you _ made a cactus that looks like a large spiky penis. What the fuck is Halloweenish about a cactus anyway? Oh! Oh, wait, wait, wait,” Castiel chanted excitedly, turning Dean’s phallic pumpkin towards himself and grasping the carving knife. “There we go.” Cas turned the pumpkin back towards Dean whose response was immediate. _

 

_ Autumn eyes crinkled at the edges as his head tipped back, overtaken with laughter. “Prick or Treat. Nice. You have a filthy mind, Cas.” _

 

Castiel smiled as he saw Dean’s pumpkin on the front steps leading into _Winchesters_ on Halloween night. Pushing open the door, Castiel’s cheeks flushed at the warmth from the inside. There was a cheerful air to the bar as people milled around, some costumed to the max, others, like himself, not dressing for the celebration but enjoying the people watching all the same.Cas could smell pumpkin spice and saw that Crowley was working on a holiday drink for a pair of elves at the bar.Orange twinkle lights were strung up throughout and paper lantern pumpkins hung from the ceiling. The few tables of the cozy establishment had been moved to line the walls to create a makeshift dance floor as the local cover band for the evening set up. Castiel recognized Chuck from Jo’s karaoke night.

 

“What the bloody hell are you supposed to be?” The question came from Crowley behind the bar who was dressed in a slick black suit with red contacts in his eyes and a golden crown.  Across from him on the patron’s side in a sleek bodysuit in all white with gossamer wings was Hannah. Demon and Angel. Castiel supposed that was pretty apt. __

 

He looked down at himself, beige trenchcoat covering a plain pair of dark pants and a white dress shirt.

 

_ “ _ He’s a flasher _ ,”   _ Dean said, popping up from behind the bar where he was adding bottles to the freezer. He had on a ridiculous cowboy hat and a sarape that looked more like a plaid blanket. __

 

“You’re one to talk, lumberjack cowboy.”

 

Suddenly, a feminine hand trailed up the arm of his coat. Long, black nails tapped their way all the way to his shoulder and he found himself facing a fifty-something blond poured into a catsuit and heavy black eyeliner.

 

“You can flash me anytime,” the woman said and Castiel saw Dean roll his eyes impressively.

 

“Seriously, Mom? Cas, Mary Winchester-”

 

“Campbell,” she corrected, still giving Castiel a wicked smile that made him vaguely uncomfortable.

 

“Whatever. Cas, my mom. Mom, this is Cas and he’s not interested.”

 

Mary turned and reached across the bar, patting Dean patronizingly on the cheek. __ “I’m sure Cas here can speak for himself,” she preened, dipping her torso just so to show off her lycra-clad cleavage.

 

“You’re right,” Castiel said with a nod, then with steel in his voice. “I’m not interested.”

 

Mary sank a shot and looked between them. “So that’s how it is,” she said with a dismissive laugh but Castiel and Dean just smiled at each other, softly. 

 

“Yeah,” Dean murmured, voice cloaked in intimacy, “that’s how it is,” and Castiel felt warmth suffuse his whole body.

 

The door chimed again and a loud whoop erupted in the crowd as Max Banes strolled in with platinum blond hair, towering heels, and a royal purple mermaid gown. 

 

Dean let out a piercing whistle and gave Max a slow perusal that set Castiel’s teeth on edge, despite knowing it was all in fun. Crowley gave him a knowing smirk from across the bar and shook his head.

 

“Damn, Max!   _ Shante, you stay _ ,” Dean said exaggeratedly as Max gave Dean a loud lipstick smack on the cheek.

 

“Dial back your murder look,” Crowley leaned forward and whispered in his ear and Cas let out a frustrated growl that had Dean eying him with concern.

 

“Hey, Dean, be ready in ten,” Chuck called from the raised platform.

 

“You’re playing with them?” Castiel’s brows rose in surprise.

 

“Just a few songs. Hey, you okay?” Dean brought his hand up, casually cupping Castiel’s cheek and he found himself leaning into the touch, a small sigh escaping. 

 

“I’m good now,” Castiel replied gruffly and saw Dean’s eyes darken at his tone. 

 

The sound of the mic check was piercing and jolted Castiel out of the spell he and Dean were again weaving around themselves. 

 

“ _ Jameson _ , please,” Castiel said, roughly, needing more than cider to settle his nerves. He found himself smiling as for the first time in years, his anxiety was from excitement and not something horrible. He and Dean were on the verge of something deep and electric and it’s been nice straddling that line. Enjoying the rush of anticipation.

 

“You really couldn’t find something to wear aside from that trenchcoat?” Dean asked flatly.

 

“You really couldn’t find a poncho that wasn’t plaid?” he volleyed back.

 

“Hey, first of all, it’s a sar-ap-e,” Dean stressed and Castiel almost choked on his whiskey holding back a laugh. “And also, shut up.” 

 

Feeling flushed, Castiel shrugged off his trenchcoat, handing it to Dean when he offered to keep it behind the bar. “Thanks.”

 

“Crowley is closing for me, so I was thinking we could take off in a few hours and have a  _ Chopped _ marathon and gorge on Halloween candy?” Dean suggested and took a sip of Cas’ scotch.

 

Gratitude rose in Castiel’s chest at Dean’s words. He’d confessed during one their movie nights that he had trouble watching horror films ever since what happened with Lucifer. Dean, though being a self-proclaimed love of machete swinging bloodfests, remembering that and offering to binge a cooking show instead was very thoughtful and  _ oh so _ Dean. 

 

“So what are you going to sing tonight,” Castiel cocked his head and rubbed his chin in a thoughtfully, playful way. “ _ Monster Mash _ ? _ Season of the Witch _ ?”

 

“Haha, no.  Oh, hey, here. I got you something,” Dean said, opening the cash register and lifting up the tray. He pulled out a small sketchpad and an eight pack of colored pencils. “So you stop wasting our Keno paper every time you feel like doodling. Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Dean said with a fond smile as Cas’ mouth dropped open in surprise. He wondered if he’d ever get used to Dean’s unprovoked kindness.

 

Castiel grinned and accepted the gift with a soft thank you. The small crowd cheered as Dean was called up to the stage. He found himself nodding along, gently to the rhythm as Dean and the band began to play  _ The Weight _ . The door opened again letting in a cool breeze, alleviating some of the heat from the body heat. In walked Lily and Charlie. Lily was fetching in her pirate princess attire but a laugh bubbled out of him as Charlie owned her Pippi Longstocking costume.

 

“No matching costumes?” he asked as Charlie settled in next to him and Lily went behind the bar allowing Crowley to clock out and join his wife on the dance floor.

 

“Hell no. Whenever we wear matching anything for any type of cosplay people look at us all creepy. Like we’re sinning sisters, you know?” Charlie said, gulping back a large swallow of her grape Crush.  

 

“It’s amazing how many people assume we’re sisters just because we both have red hair,” Lily added in, dryly.

 

The band switched over to  _ Tennessee Whiskey  _ and Cas found himself opening up the colored pencils and drawing. Dean’s fingers strumming a guitar were hypnotizing and he couldn’t help himself.

 

“Damn, Cas,” Charlie said with a low whistle as she looked over his shoulder. “You got some mad skills.” Her voice was impressed and Castiel felt a stab of pride in hearing so from someone who only knew him as Cas Novak, cabin dweller extraordinaire. He smiled at her in thank you as he shaded with his Crayola.

 

The relaxed tempo of the new song had him placing his tools down and sitting up to listen. Dean’s voice was smooth as he cupped the microphone, neck extended showing off the beautiful column of his throat. Castiel wondered if he’d be able to count the freckles dusted there.

 

_ Slow, slow hands _ __  
_ Like sweat dripping down our dirty laundry _ __  
_ No, no chance _ _  
_ __ That I'm leaving here without you on me

 

The lyrics evoked sinful images that left Castiel feeling heated, being well able to picture the slip and slide of sweat-dampened flesh gliding together. The dancers on the floor grooved in time to the beat and Castiel watched with a jealous eye as Max gyrated in the front, all eyes on Dean.

 

_ Fingertips puttin' on a show _ __  
_ Got me now and I can't say no _ __  
_ Wanna be with you all alone _ __  
_ Take me home, take me home _ __  
_ Fingertips puttin' on a show _ _  
_ __ Can't you tell that I want you, baby, yeah

 

Dean’s eyes sought out his as he sang and he gave a little wink that had Castiel slipping off his stool and making his way towards the stage. The small crowd seemed to part for him as his heart pounded with the pulse of the music, gaze still locked on Dean.

 

“Sashay, away,” Castiel scowled at Max who laughed loudly as Dean closed out the song.

 

_ Yeah, I already know that there ain't no stoppin' _ _  
_ _ Your plans and those slow hands  _

 

Dean slipped the microphone back on its stand smiled cheerfully at the crowd before stepping down from the platform and making his way to Castiel. He crowded up in Cas’ space until the toes of their shoes were touching. Castiel breathed in woodsmoke and pine as Dean leaned in to whisper against his ear. Castiel shivered against the heated breath caressing his skin and almost missed what Dean said.

 

“I’m sorry, what?" Castiel asked as Dean’s fingers trailed down the sleeves of Cas’ shirt, catching on his wrists and squeezing at his pulse point.

 

Dean chuckled softly. “I said, are you ready to head on over to my place?”

 

Castiel’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and he felt a flush as Dean followed the movement with desire filled eyes.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready. Just one more thing I wanna do before we go,” he said and Dean raised a curious brow.

 

“What’s that?” he asked, eyes dancing as they searched Cas’ expression.   
  


_ “This,”  _ Castiel said gruffly before surging forward to capture Dean’s luscious mouth with his own.

 


	11. Fire and the Flood

Of course, as much as they wanted to leave right away, it just wasn’t possible. After the whistles and catcalls from friends and strangers too tipsy to care who they were cheering for, Dean still had to help award the winner for best costume- _ Max as RuPaul was a no-brainer _ \- and make sure he got his mother into an Uber and on her way home.

 

Dean’s eyes kept sliding to Castiel as he said his goodbyes, accepting hugs and congratulations from Charlie and Lily, and leering smirks from Crowley and Hannah. The way Cas’ pink, wide lips were still kiss swollen, and his dark, tousled hair was standing up in tufts just begging for Dean’s fingers had him itching to be somewhere far from the bar; somewhere warm, with soft sheets and thick pillows and slick skin sliding against slick skin. Castiel for his part, was eating him alive with his cobalt gaze like he was a dying man and Dean was his last feast and damn if it didn’t send sparks dancing across his skin in anticipation.

 

They decided to leave Castiel’s truck in the parking lot. Dean would bring him back to pick it up in the morning, or the afternoon if Dean had his way. Heat simmered between them on the drive home, thick and heady, reminding him again of the kiss on the dance floor. He’d thought he’d been prepared. He thought he would see stars.  Dean swore he’d seen the whole damn galaxy instead.

 

The taste of Cas was rich and spicy, lingering whiskey on his talented tongue as it tangled with Dean’s. The welcome scent of cinnamon and weed, of  _ Castiel…  _ it clouded Dean’s mind and made him drive a little faster than he normally would. He glanced to his side at Cas as they drove. Headlights and streetlamps cast shadows on his arresting face as he stared ahead. He appeared almost serene, a barely-there smile tugging up the corner of his mouth, and his long-fingered hand reached over to lace with Dean’s.

 

Dean blew out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding at the contact and he realized he was happy to just do this.  That, for as much as he was aching to get his hands, his mouth, his  _ everything _ on every part of Castiel, he was also just as excited to have this part of a relationship. The part where you held hands, where a soft look could say more than a two-hour conversation. Dean didn’t want just a part of Cas, he wanted all of him and it gave him a sense of rightness paired with the solid realization that he was taking home the person he was in love with.  It knocked the wind from him a little bit, sent his pulse racing as it became epically clear how much Dean didn’t just want Cas for a night, he wanted him forever.

 

_ You’re the fire and the flood _ __  
_ And I’ll always feel you in my blood _ __  
_ Everything is fine _ __  
_ When your hand is resting next to mine _ __  
_ Next to mine _ __  
_ You’re the fire and the flood _ __  
  


Dean turned down the music and cleared his throat. He squeezed Castiel’s hand and spoke.  “Uh, hey Cas?” Dean said gruffly, “Full disclosure here,” he said, pulling into his driveway and killing the engine. Cas turned to him, brows knitted and head cocked in concern. “I’m not looking for a one-night stand here. I know that’s your M.O., but I gotta be honest, my heart can’t handle that. And, if we’re gonna go in that house and do what I think we’re gonna do, I need to know that it’s not only this one time,” he searched wide eyes that shined like the ocean at night, “because I can’t just have you once only to lose you. I won’t survive it,” he finished, brutal in his honesty, but needing everything to be open between them.

 

Dean could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he waited and watched as a smile so warm and so sincere bloomed on Cas’ face, unclenching each finger of the fist around Dean’s nervous heart one by one. Castiel shifted on the leather seats, arm sliding across the back until his hand could reach up and card his fingers through Dean’s hair.

 

“My sweet boy,” Castiel said, whisper-soft as he massaged Dean’s scalp before ghosting his thumb across his cheekbone. “Don’t you understand?” his gaze was astonishingly intense, “ I love you.”

 

It was said so earnestly and Dean’s heart stopped. “You what?” he asked, wondrously.

 

“I’m in love with you, Dean,” and it wasn’t precisely what he had said the first time. Instead, it was even  _ better _ .

 

“Oh, thank God,” he said on a euphoric bubble of laughter. “I’m in love with you too,” he said, joy infused in his tone and he pulled Cas in for a kiss, lips brushing and parting, tongues dipping in to parry gently. It was intoxicating and sumptuous and they needed to move inside before their first time was in the front seat of the Impala. Dean pulled back with a rumble of laughter and rested his forehead against Cas’ as they caught their breath. 

 

Castiel murmured, dark and deep, “Let’s go inside, Dean.”

* * *

 

  
  
  


There was no pretense of watching television with a glass of wine. There was only Dean and Castiel, and the artist's long fingers intertwined with his as they made a dance out of their trek to the bedroom; Castiel tugged him in for a quick press of lips only to be backed up and spun against the staircase by Dean so he could press open-mouthed kisses to his pulse point. Somewhere along their journey, Cas’ trenchcoat had been discarded and his dress shirt was rucked up above his hips. Dean’s shirt was gone completely, and he had a vague recollection of detaching his lips long enough from Cas’ to pull it over his head.

 

Moonlight spilled across the bed from the skylight creating a soft white glow as Castiel urged him to sit down on the thick bedspread and scootch back a little bit.  Cas straddled him, thick thighs warm and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck.

 

“I’m moody,” Castiel stated bluntly, and Dean grinned.

 

“Yeah, you are,” Dean confirmed, voice drenched in humor. 

 

“I’m moody and possessive. I have bad habits and a quick temper and sometimes I’m distant when I’m working,” Castiel said.

 

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know, _Bob_ _Ross_ ,” Dean teased, earning himself a pinch on the arm, “Ow!“

 

“I have a convicted serial killer for a brother, an emotionally frigid mother, and a spoiled homophobe for a father,” he said steadily. 

 

“What’s your point, Castiel?” It wasn’t asked flippantly, he just didn’t understand where Castiel was going with this random train of thought.

 

“You still love me anyway.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. “My point,“ Cas’ voice was thick with emotion and Dean pulled him closer, “is just that you’re not the only one who wouldn’t survive if this were only one night.”

 

Dean felt an overwhelming surge of tenderness for the strong man in his arms. 

 

“Course I still love you,” Dean said fondly. “I like when you’re moody,” Dean tried a grin and was happy to see an echo of one on Cas’ face. “It’s like this challenge for me, to try and get you to laugh or smile.  And Cas, you gotta know. We are not our parents, and  _ you _ are not your brother. Their transgressions are not on you.  I don’t care who your family is, okay? I only care about who  _ you _ are.”

 

Cas’ mouth pressed up to his; hot, wet, and  _ perfect _ .   They wound up laying side by side, Castiel propped up on his arm as he leaned down to kiss Dean, fingers working their way to the button fly of his jeans. Dean aided him by lifting his hips so Castiel could tug his pants and underwear off.

 

“Dude, you didn’t even look. Those were my best bear boxers,“ Dean complained and Castiel laughed into the skin of Dean’s neck.

 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said with an eye roll as he took a moment to remove the rest of his clothing, “You can show me tomorrow,” he said humorously before resuming his former position, fingers now grazing lightly at Dean’s cock, already thick and wet at the head.  Dean’s stomach muscles quivered at the feeling.

 

“I didn’t expect you to be like this,” Dean admitted, and Castiel side-eyed him with a soft, amused smile.

 

“Well, that’s because it’s never been like this,” Cas’ breath hitched when Dean’s own hand began to explore, brushing over pert nipples and circling a dark freckle that Dean most definitely wanted to taste. 

 

“I’m glad,” Dean murmured before giving in to temptation and leaning forward to swipe his tongue over the dark mark he had been admiring.  Cas sighed and dragged his fingers through Dean’s hair. Legs tangled, heavy and warm as he trailed his mouth up from Cas’ firm chest to his throat leaving a hot kiss on his adam’s apple, then another as he felt it bob with Castiel’s swallow. Dean inhaled the spicy cinnamon scent of Cas while relishing in the salty taste of his skin.  He kissed all the way up Cas’ jawline, his 5 o’clock shadow making Dean’s lips tingle. 

 

Castiel shifted, leaning over Dean, and as he stared into Cas’ eyes, he felt vulnerable and just a bit exposed, but in a good way. Cas was looking at him like he was a revelation and Dean wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to be on the receiving end of that kind of wonder, but he was grateful for it. They kissed again, gently sucking bottom lips and brushing tongues. Embers burned and flared into flames as they deepened the exploration and the sounds of their lips joining was wet and breathy. Castiel’s hand again drifted down to Dean’s cock giving a firm stroke that had his hips bucking as he moaned softly into Cas’ mouth.

 

“Supplies?” Castiel questioned, voice like liquid smoke and Dean jerked his head toward the nightstand.

 

“Drawer behind you,” Dean answered, and nipped at Castiel’s exquisite hipbone as he twisted and reached behind to pull it open. 

 

Castiel came back with a bottle of lube and a condom. “I wish we could bareback, but until we’ve both been tested… “

 

Dean nodded. He hadn’t been as active as Cas in the past year, but still, it was always better safe than sorry. “I’ll make an appointment,” Dean said then cursed as Cas resumed his stroking. 

 

“Do you have a preference?” Castiel asked, looking up at him from beneath long lashes as his tongue darted out to lave at Dean’s pectoral, sucking a mark into Dean’s heated skin.

 

Dean hummed at the delicious feeling of Cas’ strong hand pumping up and down on his cock and the wet warmth of his mouth on his chest and tried to stay online. “I’m… uh,  _ fuck _ ... _ hmm _ , I’m good either way, but I’m thinking,  _ ah _ , that you’d like to be on top.” Dean felt Cas grin against his skin before lightly nipping at the flesh before soothing it with his tongue.

 

Castiel didn’t respond beyond that and gently nudged Dean’s thighs apart. He let them fall open and lifted his hips so that Cas could push a pillow underneath, propping him up a bit. He let his eyes fall closed as he heard the snick of the cap of the lube. His breath caught when he felt slick fingers circling his hole.

 

“Your pucker is gorgeous,” Castiel said, voice quiet and appreciative as he traced the quivering muscle and Dean moaned in response to both the feeling and the praise. “When we’re both cleared, I’m going to make you come from my tongue alone,” he said matter of factly.

 

“ _ Jesus fucking Christ _ ,” Dean hissed out and Castiel chuckled darkly. He tugged at Dean’s rim lightly, alternating between gentle stretching and dipping in and out with long, talented fingers. Dean couldn’t help the shake in his legs from the anticipation.  Castiel glossed his fingers up some more and began to really work Dean open causing his mouth to part on a gasp as many broken sounds escaped. He didn’t try to censor himself; he could tell Castiel was enjoying  _ his _ enjoyment if the hard, dripping length of his cock riding against Dean’s thigh was anything to go by. 

 

Castiel’s mouth sought out Dean’s again as his fingers continued to scissor. Dean rode back on them as Castiel licked into his mouth, sucking on Dean’s tongue then biting his bottom lip on a groan. “Are you ready?” Cas’ voice was harsh with want and his hips moved in stilted jerks as he dragged his dick against Dean’s hip.

 

Dean, too awash in feeling to really speak, merely nodded then shifted on his side. He moaned at the loss of Cas’ fingers.

 

“Shh, sweet boy, almost,” Castiel breathed against his ear and the sound of the condom wrapper opening followed by the sound of Castiel slicking himself up was a blessed relief.  Dean lifted his leg and Cas tugged it over his hip as the wet head of his cock nudged against Dean’s fluttering hole. Dean groaned deeply as Castiel gave a guttural growl, pushing in to the hilt and stilling for a moment. Dean’s stomach muscles were trembling and he could feel Cas’ fingers flexing on his hips, trying to hold back until Dean was ready. He twisted his head and met Cas’ gaze in the moonlight. His eyes were like midnight, dark and shining and a little wild as he bit his lip around a grunted  _ “hngh”. _ Dean reached around and fisted into Castiel’s hair to tug him down for a kiss. The angle was awkward but that didn’t seem to matter because it was still perfect and when Dean shifted back to signal Cas to move everything felt as though it were on fire. They moved together, Dean’s hand still gripping Cas’ hair as they breathed against each other. Cas gripped Dean’s thigh tightly, and Dean knew there would be fingerprint-shaped bruises decorating his flesh in the morning.

 

Dean had never felt more connected to anybody in his life than he did with Castiel in those moments, with the push and the pull, moans being pulled dragged deep from within. A cacophony of grunts and keening sounds filled the moonlit room.

 

“ _ Fuck _ , that’s good,” Castiel rumbled against his ear. “So hot,  _ fuck _ , you’re  _ so _ good, Dean.”

 

Castiel shifted behind him just a bit and his cock brushed over Dean’s prostate and he couldn’t stop the ragged whine as lightning coursed through his body. “There,  _ fuck… _ right there,” he panted out.

 

“I know, Dean. I’ve got you. So perfect, love, keep giving me those sounds,” Castiel’s gravely voice encouraging him added a whole other level of pleasure and Dean’s whole body felt like one livewire as Cas continued to thrust into him and stroke his hard cock rapidly. Dean could feel Cas’ hips stuttering along with his hot breath in Dean’s ear. “I’m so close, Dean,” Cas groaned and the deep, dark sound of it seemed to  _ rip _ the orgasm from Dean as he came without warning. 

 

His whole body arched and pulled tight like a bowstring, his release pulsing out in thick, white splashes over Cas’ hand and Dean’s belly. Dean’s channel clenched tight around Castiel’s throbbing cock.

 

“ _ Fuck, Dean, _ ” Castiel hissed, pulling Dean’s hips back against him tightly as Cas ground in, shaking as he crested, spilling into the condom and trembling against Dean’s back.

 

They were a sweaty tangled mess and Dean began to shiver a bit as his skinned cooled; Cas’ breath warm against his neck and echoing in his ears.

 

“That was…” Cas trailed off and Dean laughed, voice hoarse from the constant grunting and groaning.

 

“Awesome,” he rasped and Castiel pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, awesome works, “ Cas said softly, though Dean knew they were both feeling something much more profound than mere words could express. 

Castiel slipped from Dean’s body and Dean watched him carefully remove the condom and tie it off. The head of Cas’ cock was uncut and glistening and Dean blushed a bit when he was caught staring. “Yours is pretty, too,” Castiel teased as he wiped Dean’s dick and stomach free of come with a tee-shirt from the floor. He wasn’t sure whose.

 

Dean’s whole body felt loose as they shifted, lying down again, Dean as the big spoon this time. He nuzzled into Cas’ neck, loving the feeling of his hard, broad back against his chest. “I love you, Cas,” Dean said quietly, still getting used to saying it out loud and feeling his body flood with warmth when Castiel responded in kind.

 

“I love you, too, Dean,” the words were whisper-soft and Dean knew that Castiel was already drifting off into slumber. Dean made himself stay awake a little bit longer just to savor the feeling of holding his lover in his arms. 

 


	12. Whipping Post

Dean was a vision to behold; hips tilted by the pillow as he lay on his back.  There was cum decorating his chest and dripping out of his lovingly abused hole. His knees were bent and legs were spread, giving Castiel an obscene view.

“Beautiful,”  Castiel said reverently before dipping his head down to steal a quick taste from Dean’s still quivering pucker.

Even after multiple days getting to have this, Castiel was still in awe. Taking Dean apart had been breathtaking to watch. While cresting, Dean had held his breath so harshly that his stomach muscles rippled and Castiel had to remind him to breathe with a gentle press of his fingers just above his navel. This was how Castiel had wanted him; completely sated, skin gleaming with a healthy sheen of sweat, and an expression of stunned bliss tugging at the corners of his mouth and eyes.  Dean’s cock laid heavy and spent after having pulsed out rope after rope of come, untouched. He looked utterly debauched and Castiel’s own dick was throbbing at the sight, wanting nothing more than to bury himself in Dean’s welcoming body.

Instead, he willed his hands to stop shaking with need and picked up his sketchpad.

When Castiel had first asked Dean if he would consider posing for him, his response had been laughter.

_I was kidding about the French girls thing, Cas._

“You look exquisite, Dean, how are you feeling?” Castiel asked, glancing up from his page. Moss green eyes met his lazily and a smile curved Dean’s delectable mouth.

“M’good, Cas,” Dean’s voice was raw from the many groans and whimpers Castiel had pulled out of him during the drawn-out prostate massage and a dribble of pre-come leaked out of his cock at the sound of it. “Just wondering when you’re gonna let me take care of that,” he said, eyeing Cas’ dick greedily. He continued to keep his legs spread and another lightning bolt of desire coursed through Castiel’s veins at the visual.  

He swiped the charcoal across the page and eyed Dean with a slow smile playing about his lips. “Soon. Any plans for how you’re going to take care of it?” he asked with an arched brow.

“Anyway you want, Cas,” Dean said, hand reaching out to brush Castiel’s knees. “You could crawl over here and straddle my chest. You could fist those gorgeous charcoal covered fingertips in my hair while you fuck my face,” he said, enticingly biting his bottom lip. A little growl escaped Cas’ mouth at the picture his lover painted and he laughed, shakily.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, that definitely seems doable.”

* * *

 

A half an hour later, sketchpad cast aside, Cas watched as Dean’s cherry lips stretched around his cock.. He gently rocked into Deans hot, receptive mouth, shivering from the delicious swirls of Dean’s tongue.  Dean moaned around Cas’ considerable length, completely relaxed while his hands gripped Cas’ ass, tugging him as close as could be. His autumn eyes were glazed in bliss as though there was nothing Dean wanted more in life than the thick, heavy weight of Castiel’s dick fucking his throat.

Castiel had one hand braced on the headboard and the other gripped Dean’s hair tight as he thrust shallowly into Dean’s mouth, aborted moans punching out of him as he fought to keep from losing control. He traced Dean’s cheek with his thumb, hypnotized by the sight of his spit-slick cock dragging in and out of Dean’s gorgeous mouth.

“ _Ah, ah, ah_ , “ Cas’ breath stuttered as he felt one of Dean’s hand's ghost down to tug at his balls and the other dipped into his crack to brush a thumb against his hole. Castiel’s body jerked in response when Dean rubbed at his rim, but before he could apologize for the rough movement Dean gave a porn-worthy groan that made it clear that he _wanted_ Cas to lose control. Even with tears budding at the corners of his eyes and saliva on his chin, Dean looked so fucking into it, so unapologetically responsive. His hands came up to squeeze Cas’ ass in encouragement again as he swallowed purposely around him and Castiel broke.

He began to thrust in earnest, harsh grunts falling from his lips as Dean hummed around him in pleasure. “ _Fuck_ ,” Cas hissed out when Dean reached up to roll his nipples between his calloused fingers. Castiel could feel the coil of tension drawing tighter and tighter.  “Close,” he panted out, head tipping back. “Oh, _fuck_ , gonna come, Dean- _ah, ah_ ,” Castiel lost his breath as Dean grabbed his ass roughly, burying his face in Cas’ pubic hair, swallowing around his throbbing cock repeatedly, one, two, thr-” _Fuuuuuuck_ ,” the word was dragged out of him, gravel-laced and needy. Cas’ fingers reflexively clenched and unclenched in Dean’s soft burnt-honey hair as he pulsed slow and thick down his throat. Not a drop spilled from Dean’s lips as he drank from Castiel’s cock like it was the sweetest wine.

Castiel’s whole body shook like leaves in a storm and it was Dean’s steady arms that held him close, Dean’s soothing hands that stroked his back as his sweat-slicked body fitted against him. It was Dean’s woodsmoke and pine scent that Cas inhaled greedily as he buried his face in his neck.

Any and all artwork created that night would end up in Castiel’s private collection.

* * *

 

Castiel thought he might be addicted to Dean’s kisses. They’re both enthusiastic, but Dean takes it to another level. He is epically _skilled_ in the way he uses his mouth. The soft nips, the languid roll of his tongue. Dean elicits sounds from Castiel that he’d normally be embarrassed about but is always too turned on at the time to give a fuck. Dean kisses with his whole body, the way he presses into Castiel, head to toe. His firm chest, solid and strong against his own feels perfect; Dean is physically his equal and he likes that, and he relishes the heat that saturates his body as Dean’s amazing lips catch and release his own so sensually that his heart _aches_ from it.

He was indulging in one such drugging kiss when an annoyed voice sounded near them.

“Seriously? Dean, you’re the worst handmaiden ever,” Charlie complained and Castiel smiled against Dean’s lips as the man in question rolled his eyes.

“Charlie, we’re not even LARPing right now. We’re at the _Bear Claw Autumn Pie Festival_ . Otherwise known as the most joyous day of the year,” it was said with such conviction that Castiel almost bought it as fact. _The sky is blue, seven is a prime number, and the Autumn Pie festival is the most joyous day of the year._ Dean’s bar wasn’t even open the day of the festival, a Winchester tradition, apparently.

“No, but you’re supposed to help me pass out flyers for the next event,” She said, pointedly. Castiel had heard of LARPing and had learned that Charlie was the queen of some fantastical land called Moondoor and also _Bear Claw_ ’s chapter president. It was a fantastical kingdom set in medieval times, but from what Castiel had surmised in his head it was a little like _Merlin_ combined with _Lord of the Rings_. Cas smothered a laugh as it occurred to him how much his pop culture had expanded since knowing Dean.  

Castiel had no interest in live action role play beyond the bedroom, but almost thought it would be worth it, just to see Dean dressed in chainmail and thigh-hugging britches.

Dean brushed his hands down Cas’ arms and gave him a soft smile that had warmth stirring in his chest. “She’s right, I did promise. Plus, next pie stand is cherry. Two birds, and all that.”

Castiel simply gaped at him for a moment. “Dean, you’ve already had slices of pumpkin, apple, and pecan.”

Dean merely shrugged. “Think of it as pregaming for Thanksgiving. Ellen’s banana cream is heaven. C’mon,” Dean said, swiping a handful of flyers from Charlie with one hand, and tugging Castiel’s hand with the other and entwining their fingers together.

Thanksgiving. Castiel had nearly forgotten about the holiday. It wasn’t like it was something he had ever truly celebrated with his family. He visited his Grandmother if he was permitted to when he was a child and when he was in college he spent most Thanksgivings eating Chinese takeout with Gabriel, or going out with Balthazar and hooking up with men or women or both in whatever bar they’d settled at for the night. He’d certainly never had one with a boyfriend before.

It sounded so strange in his head. He was going to his boyfriend's house for Thanksgiving. He felt all at once dizzy and giddy at the thought and a bubble of disbelieving laughter escaped his lips.  When Dean sent him a questioning look Cas just lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles and watched Dean’s eyes go soft at the gesture.

They made their way back to Charlie’s booth after stopping for a slice of cherry.

“I heard you had an eventful night,” Charlie said as they handed out flyers for the LARPing event along with some advertisement for dollar draft happy hour at _Winchester's_.

Castiel looked at Dean quizzically who was rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace on his face. They had had a rare night apart with Castiel getting so caught up in his work that he never made it down to the bar.

“If by eventful you mean having Jody call me at work to let me know that she had to throw my mother in the drunk tank again? Yeah, that was a fun conversation”

Castiel laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell me that,” he said, making sure to not sound accusing. He’s not sure what he could have done, but wished he’d been there as support anyway.

“I didn’t want to bother you with my mama drama,” Dean said, trying to play it off and Castiel wasn’t having that. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, angling his head until leaf-green eyes met his.

“I want you to bother me with it, okay? You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore,” he said quietly, even though Charlie had already discreetly stepped a few feet away.

Dean sighed and pressed a soft kiss to his lips and Cas hummed into it, tasting tart cherry. “Thank you. She was pretty pissed I left her in there. I had a five-minute rant on the machine this morning about how ungrateful I am,” he said wearily and Castiel drew him into a warm hug, Dean’s face settling into the juncture of Cas’ neck and shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said and felt Dean shrug before gripping Cas back tightly.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Dean said, as though it was okay, and Castiel felt a swell of anger rise up that he had to fight to squash back down, knowing that him spouting off would do nothing to improve the situation.

“She doesn’t deserve you,” Cas said, pulling back to meet Dean’s gaze again. “Take it from someone who knows.”

“Yeah. We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” Dean gave a little huff of laughter and Castiel just kissed him again.

* * *

 

 

 Castiel was grateful for the thermal clothing when late November rolled around. His early morning runs had gotten progressively colder, especially near the water with the hefty breeze trying to blow right through his clothes. But, his runs always ended warmly Now Castiel didn’t just run by Dean’s home anymore. He was welcomed inside with a cup of coffee and a freshly cooked breakfast, usually followed by a shared morning shower.

When he jogged up the steps Thanksgiving morning, it was the same.  A hot cup of coffee waited for him on the table next to a tumbler of orange juice. A ham, tomato and cheese omelet with a side of honey wheat toast sat beside it. As always, the gesture left him a little breathless. Whoever said romance was dead obviously never had the pleasure of dating someone like Dean Winchester.

Speaking of, where was he? Cas had to have just missed him, his omelet was still steaming.

“Dean?” Cas called out, voice muffled as he tugged his sweaty shirt over his head, feeling overheated in the warm house.

“Laundry room, babe,” Dean called back and Cas detoured from the direction of the bedroom to the room off of the kitchen that held the washing machine, dryer, and a treadmill that had a layer of dust on it.

Dean was standing in front of the dryer, hands braced on the lid, but posture relaxed. As he got closer, Cas realized he was listening to someone.  Cas peeked over Dean’s shoulder and saw himself alongside Dean, his sweaty and windswept hair a disaster, in a tiny box at the corner of Dean’s laptop screen. He jumped back immediately and Dean cracked up laughing.

“Thanks for the warning, asshole,” Castiel snarked, earlier lovey-dovey thoughts on pause as he felt his face flush at being caught so unkempt by Sam Winchester. He’d never spoken to the man, but his face featured heavily in Dean’s family photos and he would recognize that romance novel hair anywhere by now.

Dean for his part only tugged him closer to his side, smacking a loud kiss on his cheek.

“Sammy, Cas. Cas, my moose of a brother, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam, Dean. Nice to meet you Cas HOLY SHIT!”

“What?” Dean asked, startled and looking behind himself as though expecting The Hatchet Man to be behind him ready to strike, but Castiel knew that it was him the younger Winchester was focused on as his wide hazel eyes stared at him through the screen in shock.

“Your Cas is C.J. Krushnic? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Jesus, Sammy, tone it down. Your talking like before your balls dropped,” the insult jolted Cas out of his tension as an incredulous snort of laughter escaped his mouth even as Sam _hmped_ indignantly.

“Oh my God, Mr. Krushnic,” - _now it was Dean’s turn to snort_ \- “ it’s such an honor. I wish Sarah was here, she’d freak out. What are you doing with my brother?” he asked excitedly.

“Good lord, Sammy, fanboy much?” Dean asked, sending Cas a quick grin that clearly spoke of him remembering his own reaction to the news.  “Stop being such a nerd,” Dean teased and Castiel was pretty sure at that moment that he had just witnessed one of those infamous Sam Winchester bitch faces he’d heard so much about.

“Mr. Krushnic, I’m such a huge fan of your work. My girlfriend Sarah, she’s an art history major and took me to your _Watcher Angel_ showing,” Sam was looking at Castiel like an eager puppy and Dean’s expression was one of total affection as his brother continued to enthusiastically speak to him. “I mean, it totally changed the way I have envisioned angels my whole life! “

Cas found himself charmed by the sincerity in Sam’s voice and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“Thank you, Sam. And for the record, my presence here in _Bear Claw_ is not public knowledge, so if we could keep it that way, I’d appreciate it,” he knew it might have sounded a bit abrupt, but the last thing he needed was for his father to come banging at his door looking for a handout because of his whereabouts being leaked. Sam didn’t seem offended, in fact, if anything he looked sympathetic.

“Taking a break? Totally understandable. Sarah and I were disappointed when your lecture was canceled but sometimes you just have to take care of you, right?” It was obvious to Castiel that Sam knew exactly what he was taking a break from but appreciated how Sam didn’t feel the need to bring up specifics.

“Right. Your brother is good at that,” he found himself saying tenderly as his eyes lit on Dean who looked pleased and Cas wondered if it was because he seemed to be getting along with his brother. You would have to be a fool to know Dean and not realize how important his little brother was to him. Castiel had been feeling nervous about their initial meeting and was actually kind of glad it had happened this way; unplanned and organic.

“Mr. Krushnic,” Sam began and again and Castiel elbowed Dean when he rolled his eyes.

“Just call me Cas, Sam, please,” his tone held a hint of pleading and Dean ran a soothing hand up and down his back.

“Sure, no problem, Cas, “ Sam said obligingly, “So how’d you meet my workaholic brother?”

“He wasn’t watching where he was going and dumped coffee all over me,” Castiel said with a smirk at Dean.

“Yeah, and you were a total dick about it,” Dean replied before turning back to the computer screen. “But look at him,” he nodded his head in Cas’ direction. “He’s like a walking orgasm, I had to forgive him.”

“Gross, Dean!” Sam whined even as Castiel gave a bark of laughter.

They chatted for a little while longer, Sam telling Castiel that he was looking forward to meeting him in person in December and to have a great Thanksgiving. Cas left them to talk in private and went to Dean’s ensuite bathroom for a quick shower.  He’d taken to leaving spare clothes in Dean’s bottom drawer but was apparently out of shirts and wound up pulling on a long-sleeved Henley of Dean’s in deep blue.

 

When Castiel made his way back to the kitchen to reheat his breakfast, Dean was already there, pulling it out of the microwave. Cas sat down, stomach growling, and dug in.  Dean sat next to him with a cup of coffee and hooked his foot around Cas’ ankle and warmth spread at the small, intimate action.

“I’m sorry if that was overwhelming for you. I planned on asking you when you thought you’d be comfortable meeting my brother, but…”

“Don’t be silly, Dean. Your brother seems like an incredibly kind individual. I’m not worried about him knowing who I am,” he said, happy when Dean smiled at that.

After breakfast, it was a whirlwind of activity as Dean put his turkey already seasoned, stuffed, and buttered-into the oven. Two types of stuffing- one craisin and apple the other sausage- sat in foil pans waiting their turn to get in there as well.  A large stockpot was off to the side, two large cans of College Inn Chicken broth housed inside. Dean said something called tootlelings would wind up in there later.

“Grandpa Henry’s mother was half Italian and she taught him to make them when he was a kid and he taught Sam and me too,” Dean said, holding up a bag filled with pasta shaped like little hats that he pulled from the freezer. “You take homemade pasta sheets and cut it into squares then fill em’ with this mixture of ground pork and parmesan and nutmeg, then fold them into these little nun-hat things,” he said with a grin that Cas echoed. “You lay em’ on a baking sheet and let them freeze up a bit before you bag them or they’ll stick. Then just cook them in the broth. Best soup ever, even better than that tomato rice I made you last week,” Dean placed the Ziplock bag back into the freezer.  Dean explained that they would have them later after the main meal and people had digested a bit.

The house became busy and Castiel began to realize that Dean’s home was the place to be for the holidays. Ellen, Bobby, and Jo rolled in bearing homemade cranberry bread, Banana Cream Pie, and moonshine, and Ash brought an adults only platter of brownies. Charlie, Lily, and May were the next to arrive with fruit platters and turkey shaped sugar cookies that May had lovingly decorated with generous globs of frosting.

“No worries, we made sure her hands were washed,” Lily whispered with a grin to everyone in the kitchen.

Frank and Marv showed up and proceeded to salt the perimeter of Dean’s house to ward off any negative spirits which Dean accepted, somehow, with a straight face and a sober thank you.

Jody, her daughter, Claire, and her girlfriend, Kaia, came in bearing strawberry shortcake and sass.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Old man,” Claire said snarkily even as she pulled Dean into a hug.

“Same to you, you deviant youth,” he said with a chuckle, before hugging Kaia and Jody as well.

Castiel wondered if Dean’s mother would show up. The night before Dean had said he never knew. Sometimes she came and things were civil, other times she never showed at all. Then there were the times she would show up drunk, which never ended well.

“No Crowley this year?” Bobby asked, cracking open a beer and leaning against the counter.

“Nah, not this year. They promised Hannah’s brother Alfie that they’d go visit him and Krissy this year,” Dean said and Castiel couldn’t help but be relieved. He genuinely liked Crowley but if he didn’t have to pass the potatoes across a dinner table from the man who’d awakened his boyfriend’s suppressed sexuality, then he was cool with that.

Last to arrive was Dean’s youngest brother Adam, whom Dean held tightly before clapping him on the back and handing him a beer.

The house began to smell heavenly and Dean was a jovial host, always making sure everyone’s cup was filled and passing around canapes. He got little May set up in the guest room with the parade on the television and she played contently with her Poppy the Troll backpack open, spilling half naked barbies and coloring books in a circle around herself.

Everything was set up buffet style and people were urged to sit wherever. Before they started eating, each person named something they were grateful for this year, which Castiel deemed a worthy substitution for the generic grace he was used to hearing growing up.

“I’m thankful for new friends,” Castiel said when it was his turn. “And second chances,” he finished, eyes on Dean’s.

Dean held up his glass and cleared his throat. “I’m grateful for all of you and the way our little makeshift family takes care of each other,” he nodded thoughtfully as he scanned the room. “ I’m grateful both of my genius brothers are doing so well in school and that Adam could make it up here this year.” When Dean’s eyes lit on Cas’ they lit up and his lips quirked up in a gentle smile. “I’m grateful this insanely gorgeous and surly man moved across the lake from me,” he said with a wink and a kissy face that had everyone chuckling and Cas rolling his eyes theatrically, even as he felt his face heating up.

The tootlelings really were the best soup ever and Castiel found himself having seconds with a side of cranberry bread as he curled up on Dean’s couch with a large, steaming mug of it. Dean had finally deemed himself okay to sit down and Cas draped his legs over his lover's lap as they both burned their tongues while impatiently spooning up broth. It was nearing six and Charlie and Lily had taken May home for the day, bath and bedtime on the night’s menu. Claire and Kaia had taken off, as well, to see Kaia’s family for a little while. They were soon followed by Marv and Frank, whom Dean sent off with enough leftovers to feed an army, knowing that the both of them had a tendency to forget to eat when they immersed themselves in a new conspiracy. Dean’s brother, Adam, was still in a turkey coma in the guest room.

That left Ellen, Bobby, Jo, and Jody when Mary Winchester stumbled into the house. Her cheeks were bright with color from either the cold or alcohol, Cas wasn’t sure which.

Dean, ever the host, welcomed his mother in who seemed to bristle at the sight of Ellen and Jody.

“Have you eaten?” Dean asked his mother who helped herself to a glass of _Sugarhouse_ _White_ and downed it quickly, waving her son away when he offered to fix her a plate. “Mom, you can’t drink all that on an empty stomach,” he warned as she refilled her glass.

“Would you relax, Dean? It’s a holiday,” Mary said with bite in her voice.

“I guess every day’s a holiday then,” Ellen muttered from the couch, her own lips a little loose from the wine and Cas felt the temperature of the room drop.

“Shut up, Ellen,” Mary said with a sneer.

“That’s enough,” Cas found himself saying before Dean could open his mouth. Mary quickly turned her attention on him as Ellen ceased to be the biggest threat in the room.

“Hey, blue-eyes, just because you’re fucking my son doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” she said viciously and that was apparently Dean’s last straw.

“Don’t you talk to him like that, ever,” Dean’s tone brooked no argument.  

“Oh, please, Dean. He’ll be gone by the new year. Mr. Fancy pants artist with the sociopathic brother. Yeah, I know who you are,” she said scathingly but instead of fear, all Castiel felt was anger that this woman could be so heartless to her own son. Cas was immeasurably sad for Dean because he knew first hand how that felt from both of his own parents. “You really think city slicker here is gonna wanna stay here in this misfit town forever? Dream on, sonny boy, cause that ain’t happening.”

Castiel stepped in front of Dean who looked at a loss for words, his mom’s venom effectively stunning him to silence.

“You don’t know me or what I want, so let me enlighten you,” Castiel said, his words like ice. “If I were lucky enough to spend every day of the rest of my life with your son, it wouldn’t be enough. He is amazing and breathtaking, and everything right in the world and NONE of that is because of you,” he growled and although he doubted his words made much of an impression on Mary who only continued to roll her eyes like a pissed off teenager, the way Dean slid his hand around Cas’ waist and the soft look in his warm green eyes said that they meant something to him.

“Mom,” Dean said, voice tired,  “just sit down and eat something.”

Mary finally relented, having a bowl of soup, only to take off when Cole showed up a half an hour later to pick her up.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I should have kept my mouth shut,” Ellen said as she embraced Dean, then Castiel goodbye for the night.

“She’da been like that whether you said something or not,“ Dean said.

Everyone said their goodbyes, Adam coming out long enough to at least hug Jo goodbye which made Dean smirk and the girl herself blush.

Later that night Castiel refused to let Dean apologize for what happened with his mother, insisting that despite her, it had been the best Thanksgiving he could remember having.  They laid in bed watching a Louden Swain concert on demand, Dean wrapped around Cas like an octopus, humming along to their cover of _Whipping Post_. Castiel carded his fingers through Dean’s hair soothingly, deciding that after Mary’s comments, now was not the time to discuss the fact that Gabriel had asked him about coming back to California to showcase his new work.

 


	13. To the Moon and Back

Dean held the door open but instead of passing through, Castiel was eying him up and down, quizzically, head tilted in obvious confusion.

 

“Why are you dressed like Braveheart?” he finally asked and Dean rolled his eyes. 

 

“Why are you dressed like a tax accountant?” he countered, leaning in for a kiss.  It was meant to be welcoming but as usual with them, quickly became heated. Dean cupped Cas’ cheeks so that he could feel the rasp of his five o’clock shadow on his palms as their lips moved together almost desperately. They drew back for air and Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s.

 

“You going to let me in, William Wallace?” Cas teased and Dean searched his gaze, seeing something in his expression but not sure what yet.  

 

“After you, Constantine.  Keanu Reeves version,” Dean volleyed back and considered the victory his when Cas let out a bark of laughter.

 

“Seriously though,” Cas began as he stripped off his trench coat and hung it in the hall closet,“ I was hoping for chainmail. And your own hair,“ he said, tugging at Dean’s long blonde wig.

 

Dean pushed his hands away, muttering “Get off,” as Cas followed him into the bedroom to the bathroom to remove his face paint and put the wig in a hat box that he put in the top of the bathroom closet. “Charlie was here a bit ago. I told her she could take my picture for the Moondoor website. She provided the costume, not me. What’s your excuse, Dapper Dan?”

 

“I love how you pretend to insult me when we both know you jerk off to thoughts of me like this. Buttoned up…” Castiel trailed a hand down the front of Dean’s costume tunic, “fancy shoes, tie. All straight-laced just so you can mess me all up,” his voice was whiskey smooth and Dean drew a ragged breath even as he laughed.

 

“Straight-laced, yeah,” Dean sighed as Cas crowded him against the bathroom sink, breathing in cinnamon and pot. He held his breath as Castiel’s cobalt eyes seemed to see into his soul, searching him intently, pink tongue coming out to wet pink chapped lips. He looked as though he was trying to figure Dean out and he knew it had something to do with whatever Cas had been holding back the last few weeks since Thanksgiving. 

 

“I love you,” Castiel said it severely as though Dean would doubt it and be brought his thumb up, smoothing the wrinkles in Cas’ forehead as his boyfriend continued to study him.

 

“I know,” Dean answered back. “I love you too. Now, why don’t we go eat and you can tell me what you’ve been trying to tell me for the past two weeks.” Dean was pleased to see that he could surprise Castiel when his brows winged up, obviously caught off guard. Dean considered the fact that Cas didn’t deny it, as progress.

 

Without words, they both changed into Friday movie night attire; sleep pants and tee-shirts, both sets belonging to Dean as Castiel had taken up the habit of just wearing Dean’s clothing when he stayed over. In fact, Dean was pretty sure that half of his long-sleeved henleys now resided at Cas’ cabin.

 

They settled on Dean’s sofa eating pad thai and beef with broccoli out of take-out containers with plastic forks.  The alt-rock channel played on the television as  _ Oasis _ crooned in the background.

 

“So spill. You’ve been looking at me like you’re trying to judge my reaction to something,” He said.

 

“I have,” Castiel said bluntly. Cas placed his container on the coffee table and angled himself toward Dean, one leg up on the couch folded under himself. Dean placed his hand on Cas’ kneecap and squeezed in reassurance that he would listen to whatever Castiel had to say.

 

“Are you breaking up with me?” Dean forced himself to ask the question that had been plaguing the back of his mind and felt his gut unclench at the shocked look on Castiel’s face as his head whipped back as though sucker punched.

 

“No! No, it’s nothing like that at all,” he said vehemently.

 

“Alright, then just tell me what’s going on.”

 

Cas nodded. “Okay, so you know I’ve been working a lot.”

 

“I know you  _ say _ you have,” Dean teased, “but since you won’t show me what you’ve done I can’t actually verify your claim.”

 

“Cute,” Cas said dryly, and Dean just shrugged and took another bite of his spicy noodle dish. “I sent some pictures to Gabriel-” Dean made a mock face of betrayal that had Castiel shoving his shoulder. “Cut it out. I sent them to Gabriel and he really wants me to come after the first of the year and do a showing hosted by the Stanford Arts department. I’d only be gone a week or two. “

 

“Okay, so that’s a good thing, right? Why were you afraid to tell me?” Dean asked and Castiel shrugged a shoulder jerkily, reaching for his hard cider and taking a long pull from the bottle.

 

“I was going to, Thanksgiving, but after your mother…” he trailed off and it all clicked into place.

 

“After my mom, you thought that I would think she was right, that this is just some vacation headspace for you and once you get back to your old life you’ll want to pick up where you left off.”

 

“Something like that.”

 

“Well, she could be right,” Dean said thoughtfully and Castiel reared back as though slapped.

 

“How can you say that?” 

 

“Look, Cas. I love you. Like, I  _ really _ , really love you.  I can’t remember ever feeling this way about anyone in my life. You’re on my mind all the time and sometimes when we’re just sitting here all I want to do is hold you and keep you next to me and never  let you go,” Dean’s lips curved in a smile as he watched Cas’ blue eyes go soft and dazed at his confession, “but you had a very different life before you came here.”

 

“What does that-”

 

Dean held up a hand. “I’m just saying that as much as you needed a break from that reality, from the press and the stress and your dickbag dad...before everything happened with Lucifer, you enjoyed your life. Living in the city, the parties, the art scene, the people. The restrooms,” he joked lamely and Cas merely glared, a swell of anger starting to spark in his eyes. “My point is, you might go do this show and remember what it is you loved so much about what you left behind.  The novelty of small town living may wear off quicker than you think.”

 

“The novelty of being in love with you, you mean,” Castiel said, voice tight and controlled and Dean wished he could say what he was saying without hurting Cas, because it wasn’t his intention.

 

“Cas, I’m not trying to piss you off,” he started, but Castiel’s bitter laugh had him stopping short.

 

“No, you’re just being a martyr, giving me up before I have even left,” Cas’ voice had risen by this point and his face was flushed with ire.  Even angry, he was beautiful.

 

“That’s not what I am doing and I have no intention of giving you up,” Dean insisted even though deep down he knew that if it became best for Castiel, he would let him go.

 

“Oh, really? That’s why you’re already mentally preparing for me to not come back, huh? You think I am going to stand around a gallery full of people admiring my work and all of a sudden forget about you?” Cas cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as though scrutinizing a foreign species. “Is that really what you think of me?”

 

Dean was getting antsy and stood up abruptly, leaving Cas on the couch, staring up at him with furious, wounded eyes.

 

“No, of course not! I think you’re awesome and brilliant and talented! And I don’t want you to give up your dreams or what you want because you feel guilty about leaving me behind. Because as much as I would love to follow you anywhere, Cas, I can’t. I have too many responsibilities here and you shouldn’t have to deal with my crap-”

 

“Didn’t we agree that we’d carry each other’s baggage? That we would be there for each other? Both of us, Dean, not just  _ you _ !” Castiel got right up in Dean’s face and drilled a finger into his chest. “Aside from my grandmother, do you know how many people I have ever told I love them?  _ One _ ! Just  _ you _ , Dean. I don’t take this lightly,” he said, gesturing between them, “but I am beginning to wonder if you do,” Castiel finished, backing away and grabbing his shoes off of the mat from where he took them off when he came in, jamming his feet into them without even untying the laces.

 

“Hey, hey, that’s not fair,” Dean protested, following Cas to the closet where he was grabbing his coat and feeling a rush of panic at the thought of him leaving. He grabbed Cas’ arm and spun him around, but was careful not to squeeze to hard; his intent to halt, not to wound. “Castiel, you know I don’t take any of this lightly. I don’t even know how this all got out of control. We’re arguing about something that hasn’t even happened yet!”

 

“ _ Yet _ ! There’s the rub, Dean,” Castiel sighed and it was laced with sadness. 

 

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Cas. I love you and I’m always gonna want what’s best for you.“

 

Cas raised a trembling hand to Dean’s cheek and he closed his eyes at the feeling. When they dropped from his face Dean’s eyes flew open. Castiel was walking away.

 

“Where are you going?” Dean cringed at the needy fear in his voice.

 

“I’m going home. I can’t be just another person you have to take care of and sacrifice for, Dean. I need us to be partners. I have to know I’m not just taking from you,” Cas’ fingertips brushed across Dean’s lips, stopping his protest. “I’m not breaking up with you.  My heart is yours. But I’m too angry in this moment,” he pushed a hand through his hair, making it stand up wildly and a cool mask seemed to settle over his features. “When you can accept that your wants and needs are just as important as mine,” Cas stared him down from underneath long lashes and an arched brow, “when you can ask me for what you want, call me and I’ll be right here.”

* * *

 

  
  
  


It was too quiet after Castiel left and Dean quickly tossed the remnants of their dinner in the trash. He felt keyed up, exhausted, and quite frankly, close to tears. He hated fighting with Cas and this was the first big one in their relationship. He had to remind himself that he hadn’t just been broken up with, despite it feeling that way.

 

Dean wandered to his bedroom and reached for his guitar, stroking the neck before picking it up. He slipped his feet into his  _ Adidas _ and carried the instrument and a bottle of Irish whiskey out on the wraparound porch. He took a swig and it burned a little going down but it was still smoother than the cheap stuff he used to sneak as a teenager.

 

Dean strummed the guitar for a little bit, feeling a bit like an emotional stew on the stove, ready to boil over. He never intended to put Castiel on a pedestal and it wasn’t that he didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. It was just that usually, all he wanted was what was best for everyone else. He supposed that made Cas sort of right about the martyr thing. 

 

He just didn’t know if he could watch Cas in his element, happy and enjoying his success and then ask him to come back home with him. Yes, he knew Castiel planned on that anyway, that this was only meant to be a short trip, but if Dean saw that  _ spark  _ in his eyes or a flash of longing on his gorgeous face letting Dean know that California is where Castiel wanted to be, he didn’t think he’d be able to be selfish and ask him to please choose Dean instead. Not without feeling incredibly guilty about it.

 

Dean tried to see it from Castiel’s point of view and he groaned a bit when he realized how insulting it must have felt to have the depth of his feelings doubted, or his desires for that matter. 

 

Dean wanted to pick up the phone right now and beg Castiel to come back so they could talk things out, but he knew a night apart was probably for the best. Anything he said to the man right now would no doubt just sound like lip service. No, he would call tomorrow and they could hash things out then. Dean took another pull of whiskey and feeling like some emo  _ Savage Garden _ , began playing softly.

 

_ I would fly you to the moon and back  _

_ If you'll be, if you'll be my baby  _

 

_ I've got a ticket for a world where we belong _

_ So would you be my baby? _

* * *

 

  
  
  


The fact that Castiel almost considered buying another pack of cigarettes pissed him off to no end. He was furious. And sad.  He was completely heartsick and it was an awful feeling that twisted his stomach in knots and made it hard to breathe.

 

He kicked off his shoes, looked down at himself, and realized he had walked home with another set of Dean’s clothes and found a hysterical sob escaping his mouth. He pushed it back and stalked into the guest room he’d converted into his workspace.  Choosing his supplies he let his emotions free and released them through his palette and brush.

 

Castiel lost all track of time as a rough gale blew across his canvas, swirling winds and magnified raindrops.  Like glass and tear-shaped, one dominated the scene; the eye of the storm. Suspended in the middle like a vision in a mirror was a leaf, mottled in gold and green. Whispers of  _ Dean _ floated through Castiel’s mind as he worked.

 

When Castiel at last stepped back from the canvas he was swaying on his feet and his cell phone told him it was four am.  He wanted to sleep but his mind was still racing despite the hours on his feet expelling his twisted emotions through oil paints. Instead, he found himself lighting up, switching from the hybrid he’d smoked in the morning to some potent Sativa, letting the invigorating strain focus his spiraling thoughts, giving him a burst of energy that had him continuing his work until late Saturday afternoon when he suddenly became aware of how thirsty he was.  

 

He all but sleepwalked into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. Castiel chugged half of it in one go, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he panted slightly. He forced himself to take a quick shower and had to fight to keep from nodding off under the hot spray.  After, he quickly dried off and tugged on a fresh pair of sweatpants, thick socks, and Dean’s Night Ranger tee-shirt. Cas then trudged to the bedroom and fell face first onto the comforter. He was asleep like the dead in an instant.

 

The continuous ringing of his cell phone on woke him at 3:30 am on Sunday.

 

“Gabriel, I swear to fucking God, if this isn’t an emergency I will cut off your dick with a spork,” he snarled, face still half mashed in the pillows.

 

“Castiel, it’s Jody Mills.” At the sound of the  Sheriff’s voice, Castiel felt dread coil in his stomach and settle like lead as he shot upright in bed. “I’m calling on behalf of Dean Winchester.”

 

Castiel’s heart rate seemed to triple as he clutched his phone.  He had to clear his throat twice before he could get his voice to work. “What happened? Is he okay?”  _ Please be okay, please be okay, oh God, please be okay. _

 

“He’s had a family emergency and requested you be reached,” she said, and Castiel blew out a breath, feeling dizzy with relief.  Castiel began tugging on his sneakers, hands shaking slightly as he listened to Jody’s calm voice. ”He’s at Mark Cain Memorial Hospital.” 

 

Castiel pulled on his dark green hoodie, another confiscated item of Dean’s, and was comforted by the scent of woodsmoke and pine. He grabbed his keys off of the coffee table where he’d thrown them Friday night. “Which room?”

 

“He’s in the E.R. waiting room. And Castiel?” Jody continued softly, “he’s in a bad way right now. He shouldn’t be left alone.”

 

“I’m already out the door, Sheriff,” Castiel said, not even locking up behind himself as he jogged to his truck. He took a bracing breath as he turned the engine, afraid of what he was walking into, but taking solace in the knowledge that Dean was at least physically, okay.

  
  



	14. Dizzy

“You look like crap. Hungover?”

 

Dean snorted as he skyped with Sam over his bowl of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch.

 

“I wish. Not everyone can look as salon ready as you first thing in the morning,” Dean said, pulling a face at his brother.

 

“It’s like 11:00 am at home right now,” Sam said and Dean couldn’t help but be gratified that his brother still referred to _Bear Claw_ as home. “Seriously. What’s up?”

 

Dean rolled his eyes at the earnest concerned face through the screen, though he secretly felt like he did something right, raising Sam to be such a caring person.

 

“Cas and I had kind of a fight,” Dean said as the whole thing tumbled out between mouthfuls of cereal. Sam listened intently, nodding along at certain points.

 

“He’s not wrong, Dean,” Sam said when he was finished.

 

“I know it,” Dean owned up, as he poured himself another cup of coffee. He’d been up almost all night, finally crashing around 3:00 am with the lights all on and infomercials dominating the television. “And, it’s not like I don’t know how to ask for things, but there is a big difference between asking Cas to deal with my family drama than asking him to give up his old life.”

 

“It didn’t sound like it was that much of a sacrifice for him, Dean. He obviously wants to be with you. Don’t you think you owe him the respect to make his own decisions?” Sam gently chided. Dean sat back with his coffee, shaking his head.

.

“I never said I wouldn’t, but tell me, what’s so wrong about preparing for the possibility? Is it really so unthinkable that Cas might find he really misses his old life?  I just don’t want him to make any decisions because he feels like he’d be breaking promises to me.”

 

“Have you told him that?” Sam asked.

 

“I tried, but he just wanted to be away from me last night,” it left a bitter taste in Dean’s mouth to be said.  “And knowing Cas, he’s probably just crashing. No doubt he went straight for his workroom when he got home.”

 

Sam chuckled. “Sounds like you know him pretty well,” he noted and Dean inclined his head.

 

“Six months in January, but it seems like forever, you know?” Dean said wearily, pushing a hand through his hair.

 

“I just think you got to-oh, wait,” Sam left his chair and Dean could hear murmuring then Sarah’s voice calling out in greeting and the crinkle of paper bags. He yelled hi back and waited for Sam to finish helping his girlfriend with the groceries.  “I think you just gotta explain it to him like you did to me,” Sam finished when he came back onscreen.

 

“Yeah, after he’s cooled off. Pissed off Cas is usually hot as hell,” Dean said with a wink and a nod that had Sam wincing, “but pissed off and hurt is just…” Dean trailed off.  

 

* * *

 

Dean had every intention of going to Castiel’s to hash everything out that afternoon, but the universe had other plans for him.  Lily had to call out of work because May had brought home lice from school. As a result, she and Charlie were having to practically sterilize the house and he was serving dollar drafts.  


He did manage to text Cas a few times during the day.

 

_I’m sorry. Can we talk later?_

 

_Well, either you’re sleeping or ignoring me._

 

_Cas, you said when I was ready you’d be there._

 

_I love you._

 

After the last one, Dean decided to give it a rest. He wound up staying through the night shift, though Crowley and Garth really had it covered. He joined the band on stage for a few sets. It felt good to let loose some of his antsy energy because waiting for Cas to respond back was killing him.

 

 _You're cynical and beautiful_   
_You always make a scene_   
_You're monochrome delirious_   
_You're nothing that you seem_   
_I'm drowning in your vanity_   
_Your laugh is a disease_   
_You're dirty and you're sweet_ _  
You know you're everything to me_

 

Dean watched as tipsy regulars and strangers danced with the confidence that only tequila could bring and let the entertaining sight soothe him as he sang. He blew a kissy-face to Jo as she turned her cell on him, no doubt videotaping for her social media pages.

 

 _Everything you are_   
_Falls from the sky like a star_   
_Everything you are_   
_Whatever ever you are_

 

He couldn’t help his thoughts turning to Castiel again. Surly, passionate, caring, prickly, affectionate Cas, who was a dizzy mass of contradictions, who had quickly become _everything_ to Dean.  He vowed that after he closed up the bar if he drove home and saw lights on at Cas’ house, then he would stop over.  The silence between them was too much and he needed to explain where he was coming from. Even if Castiel didn’t agree, then perhaps he could at least understand Dean’s point of view and forgive him anyway.

 

He was five minutes from leaving, having sent Crowley home early, when he got the phone call from Mark Cain Memorial Hospital. Dean had been listed as next of kin and they needed him to come in right away. Dean drove to the hospital in a daze, every movement felt as though he were walking through syrup, slow with stuttering steps as his legs shakily carried him through the E.R. doors.

 

Jody was waiting for him.

 

“I’m so, so sorry Dean. The doctors did everything they could, but it was just too late.”

 

Mary Winchester had died at 11:41 pm after driving into a tree on a back road into town, while intoxicated.  When Dean saw his mother, cold and still on the table he clutched Jody’s arm as a wave of nausea crashed over him, making him have to fight not to vomit in the sterile room.  Death hadn’t stolen the hardness from her face, in the fine lines encased in Cover Girl matte foundation. She looked tired and that hit Dean the hardest; no peace in dying.

 

Later, he sat in one of the scooped plastic chairs in the waiting room clutching a cup of lukewarm coffee and feeling numb.  He felt like he should cry, but he couldn’t. He knew he needed to call Sam but he couldn’t seem to get his brain to figure out how to do that. He wasn’t even entirely sure why he was still there. He must be in shock.. A hysterical bubble of laughter escaped and he couldn’t even begin to know where it came from.

 

“Who should I call for you, sweetie? Do you want Ellen or Bobby? Just tell me and I’ll get on the phone straight away.”

 

Dean chewed on his bottom lip as Jody’s question flashed repeatedly in his head, words foreign as they buzzed around his skull with no meaning. It wasn’t until she was on her knees in front of him, that his surroundings seemed to thrum back to life, the sounds of shoes squeaking across industrial white floors, the hum of the vending machines and the low sound of the television that those waiting in the E.R. stared at, paying half attention to _CNN_. Jody’s words finally filtered in.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        “Who do you need me to call, Dean?” Jody asked, probably for the fifth or sixth time and Dean met her eyes this time. _Who did he need?  That_ , he understood. _That_ he could answer.

 

“Cas,” he croaked out. “I need Cas.”

* * *

  


Castiel went up and down the rows of cars in the E.R. parking lot, finally finding a spot open near the back. His stomach was a mass of nerves at what he was about to walk into, but it didn’t stop him from nearly running to the building, waiting impatiently for the automatic doors to open. He saw Jody first before his eyes drifted next to her to the figure sat at the edge of a wildly uncomfortable looking chair.

 

Cas held back a gasp as he surveyed Dean. His burnt honey hair stood up in tufts. His eyes appeared vacant and he was paler than a sheet, almost translucent.  He was facing forward but not appearing to really see anything, sitting perfectly still with his hands resting on his knees. Before he knew it, Cas found himself covering those hands with is own as he crouched down in front of him. The skin on skin contact seemed to jar Dean out of his head space for a moment as dark green eyes like the forest at night focused on Castiel.  He watched as those eyes registered him and his heart broke a little when he recognized surprise.

 

“Oh, Dean,” Cas breathed out, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead.

 

“You came,” was the whispered response and Castiel brought his hands up to cup Dean’s stubbled cheeks.

 

“Of course I came, baby. I’ll always come when you call,” Cas soothed.

 

“I… I tried texting you today-”

 

“I’m sorry, I was painting, then I crashed. I haven’t checked any of my messages,” Castiel lifted Dean’s chin gently when the man looked down at his words. “I wasn’t intentionally ignoring you, Dean, I promise.”

 

“My mom is dead, Cas,” Dean said, sounding so like a lost little boy that Castiel’s eyes stung.

 

“I know, baby,” Cas replied gently.

 

“She got drunk,” Dean said shakily. “hit a tree,” he snorted out a bitter laugh. “How fucking cliche is that?” He scrubbed his hands over his face and jerked his head in Jody’s direction. “This one here won’t let me drive home. You think you can help me with that?” Dean asked and Cas hated that he heard shame in his voice. Like Dean not being able to drive himself home after such a traumatic event was some kind of weakness.

 

“Of course I can. Is there anything we need to do here?” Castiel asked softly and Dean shook his head.

 

“The hospital will call when they are ready to release the body and Dean will have to tell them which funeral home to send her to,” Jody said, quietly, more to Cas than Dean, as if afraid he might not remember the details later on.

 

Dean cleared his throat, bringing Castiel and Jody’s attention back to him.  

“I gotta go home, make some phone calls. Fuck, whatta my gonna tell Sammy?”

 

Castiel gripped his hand and pulled him up so they were face to face. “Don’t worry about that now,” he said, wrapping a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and leveling him with a steady gaze. “One step at a time, baby, let’s just get you home, okay?”

 

Dean rested his eyes briefly, eyelashes dark next to the pallor of his skin, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

The ride back to Dean’s was quiet. Castiel thought that Dean would nod off, but he didn’t.  Instead, he stared stoically out the window, clutching Cas’ hand, fingers laced tight like he was afraid Castiel was going to leave the first chance he got.  Dean was shivering, so Cas turned the heater up, figuring Dean was either cold or still in shock; quite possibly both.

 

It wasn’t long and his headlights were falling on Dean’s driveway.  Before Castiel could even turn off the car, Dean turned towards him looking more vulnerable than he has ever seen him.

 

“I know that you’re upset with me-”

 

“Dean, no-” he tried to cut in, but Dean kept going in his rush to say whatever it was he needed to say.

 

“But could you please stay for a little bit? Just until after I call Sammy? I, uh, I don’t think I can do it alone.”

 

Castiel turned off the engine and shifted in his seat so that he could take Dean’s hands in his, squeezing his palms until tired green eyes looked at him. “Listen to me. I’m not going anywhere. We had an argument, yes. I hear that is typical in relationships with two stubborn people,” Castiel said with a small smile and coaxing one out of Dean.  “We’re a work in progress, Dean, in for the long haul, okay?”

 

Dean didn’t answer, instead, he pulled Cas to him in a fierce embrace, mumbling his thanks into his neck. Castiel felt his eyes prickling as Dean’s finger’s clenched and unclenched in the fabric of his shirt. Cas held him back just as tightly, murmuring words of love.

 

When they eventually left the car, now gone chilly with the heat off, Castiel gently urged Dean into the shower.

 

“You’ll feel better after a wash and change into something comfortable. Then we’ll call Sam, alright?” When all he got was a mute nod, Cas took the initiative to start undressing Dean.  Once in the bathroom, beneath the lights, his skin was even paler making his golden freckles stand out starkly. Castiel picked up Dean’s pine scented body wash and soaped up a body scrub.  Under the hot spray of water, Cas washed every one of those freckles as he tenderly kissed _I’m sorrys’_ into his skin. Dean was silent and pliant but his eyes shone with loving gratitude.  A bit more in control, Dean attempted to wash Cas and at first he wanted to deny him the chore, but Castiel knew Dean needed a distraction, at least for a bit, and nothing distracts Dean more than doing for others. After Dean cleaned Cas from top to toes, they took turns washing each other’s hair, some deep, woodsy shampoo that evoked images of naked Dean in a glen, blissful as his skin was kissed by rain.

 

When Dean pressed soft, trembling lips to Castiel’s, his heart melted for the innocence of the gesture.  Not being able to ignore the rapidly cooling water, Cas shut it off before opening the sliding door. He gently dried Dean, sending him off into the bedroom while he quickly dried himself as well. Dean seemed to be coming back online, fishing a pair of boxers out for himself and another for Cas. He then dug in the pajama drawer and tossed Castiel a pair of black flannels and a blue Marvin the Martian tee-shirt. He couldn’t help the soft laugh as Dean pulled on a gray tee-shirt embossed with a bear that said _I wuv hugs_ in pink.

 

“Is that pink puffy paint?” Castiel asked, cocking his head and Dean blushed the tiniest bit before shrugging his shoulders with a small grin.

 

“May made it for my birthday last year,” Dean said. “She gets a kick every time I wear it.”

 

Castiel’s throat ached for the sweetness of knowing that Dean was the type of guy who wore homemade pink teddy bears because it made a loved one happy.

 

“I know you’d rather coffee, but I’m going to make you some tea, okay? You’ll sleep better for it afterward.”

 

Dean nodded and picked up his cell laying on the nightstand where Cas had placed it after undressing Dean.  “Thanks, Cas.”

 

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel said, turning towards the stairs to head down to the kitchen.

 

“No, I mean…” Dean clasped his forearm, stopping him from leaving the room. “Thanks for sticking with me. Not just for tonight,” Dean gave a watery laugh, releasing Cas’ arm to rub at the back of his neck in a now well recognized nervous gesture. “Sammy says I have abandonment issues,” he offered finally, with a sheepish shrug.

 

“Not everyone leaves, baby,” Castiel dropped a gentle kiss on Dean’s forehead. “And though it might not seem so right now, good things do happen.” _You are my good thing_ , Cas’ heart screamed out but he held it in because everything needed to be about Dean right now. Their fingers entwined together as they climbed down the staircase, parting when Dean went into the living room to sink onto the sofa, and Cas to the kitchen to make tea.

 

Castiel popped the k-cup holder out and rinsed it, putting it back empty. He reached in the cabinet, searching for the Celestial Seasonings Variety Pack, pulling out calming lavender and chamomile. He stuck the two bags in a large mug imploring him to _Vote For Pedro_ and placed it on the drip tray before hitting brew. People who paid for tea K-cups were nuts, in Castiel’s opinion when you could do this.

 

Dean had the phone to his ear when Castiel came out with two steaming mugs of tea and joint and lighter from the stash Dean kept in the breadbox, stuffed in his loose pocket. Cas placed both beverages on the coffee table and held his hand out to him, palm up.  Dean immediately connected them.

 

“Hey, Sammy.“

  



	15. Cat's in the Cradle

 

Dean sank into the plush cushions of the couch as he held the phone up to his ear. 

 

_ I can’t believe I’m doing this. I cannot believe I have to make this call. _

 

He knew he was likely waking both Sam and Sarah but Dean couldn’t justify putting it off until a more convenient time. This wasn’t some distant cousin, this was their  _ mother _ .

 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was a mixture of worried and exasperated. “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“Hey, Sammy,” he managed to croak out, taking a deep breath and listening to the sound of Castiel moving around in the kitchen and the hiss of the Keurig.

 

_ Thank God for Cas _ . He honestly didn’t think he’d even be coherent right now if it weren’t for his lover.

 

“Dean, what's going on? Is everything okay? Ellen? Bobby?” 

 

Dean had to laugh bitterly because how fucking sad was it that it wouldn’t even occur to Sam to ask about their mom. He felt a hand on his shoulder and mouthed his thanks when Cas pressed a hot mug of tea into his hands. He grimaced for the taste of it, not unlike eating a mouthful of flowers, but the scent was soothing and his mouth was dry.  Dean put the phone on speaker and laid it on the coffee table so as to clutch the drink with two hands and soak in its warmth through his fingertips.

 

“No, they’re fine, “ Dean took a deep breath. “ it’s...it’s mom, Sam.”

 

There was a tense silence on the end of the line then finally:

 

“Just say it, Dean.”

 

“She’s gone, Sam. Drunk driving,” Dean said as Sam cursed on the other line. “I’m sorry, Sam-”

 

“What are you sorry for, Dean?” Sam asked, confused, almost exasperated and Dean shrugged though he knew Sam couldn’t see him.

 

“I tried. So many times.  _ Just go to rehab, Ma.  _  I begged her, so many times,” Dean could feel his throat closing up as he fought back the tears that were finally making their presence known.

 

“Don’t you dare put this on your shoulders, Dean. I’m not trying to sound harsh; she was our mom and I am grateful for the life she gave me, and it’s awful that she died. But I’m not going to fall to my knees and sob over a woman who left one child to raise her other child. A woman whose need for alcohol was more important than putting food on our table or clothes on our backs. You think I don’t know what you had to do at those truck stops to earn us some money?” Dean blushed at that and the dawning look of horror on Cas’ face as he had clearly understood what Sam alluded to through the phone.

 

“She wasn’t a child Dean, she wasn’t some Madonna with a string of bad luck. She had people, she had people willing and able to help her. It was not up to you to piece her back together again after Dad, you hear me?”

 

“He’s right,” Castiel put in, softly. “You can’t save everyone, my love. Though you do try,” the look Castiel granted him was one of such profound love and fondness that Dean’s heart felt full to bursting in that one moment.

 

They finished their phone call and Dean knew that he should get some sleep but the idea of laying down and picturing his mom, cold and lifeless in his head over and over was just too much. He was jolted out of his maudlin thoughts when Castiel nudged him, offering a joint and a lighter.  They watched a marathon of _Expedition_ _Unknown_ and Dean distracted himself between puffs with staring at Castiel’s expressive face etched with awe when a fossil of a mammoth skull was recovered. They passed the joint back and forth until drowsy enough, Dean allowed himself to be pulled down lengthwise on the couch. His back pressed against the warmth of Castiel’s firm chest, surrounded by cinnamon and green and Dean fell asleep to the ghost of Cas’ soft breath along his cheek.

* * *

 

  
  


There was no viewing. Just a small graveside service and a gathering at  _ Winchester’s _ that was only open to family and friends.  Sam was able to leave for winter break early without a problem, but Sarah had to stay for one more final and couldn’t make the funeral. She would, however, still be there for Christmas.

 

When Dean and Cas had picked Sam up at the airport, Castiel had smiled uncomfortably as he was gathered into a welcoming  _ thank you for taking care of my brother  _ hug and Dean rolled his eyes for form. Sam had claimed his old bedroom, not batting an eye at the addition of herbal teas in the cabinet or set of charcoals on the coffee table or more importantly, the bright orange briefs in the wash that were definitely not Dean’s. Castiel had been staying with Dean ever since he got the news about his mother.  Dean had begged Cas to go take some time for himself now that Sam was home, but he wasn’t having it.

 

Castiel hired a catering company to provide food buffet style at the bar. He took care of arranging to have a large portion of the flowers that were sent to the funeral home to be transported to the children’s and maternity wings of the hospital, except one display of roses picked out by Dean and Sam themselves. That vase sat at Mary’s favorite table in  _ Winchester’s,  _ right next to the dart board.

 

“I just want to thank you all for coming today,” Dean said gratefully, looking around the room from the slightly raised stage of the bar as he spoke into the microphone. “ I think we all know that my mother wasn’t the easiest person to get along with,” there were a few titters of gentle laughter, “and I know you’re here now because of me and Sammy, and it’s appreciated more than you know,” Dean said and Sam nodded his head solemnly.  “This was the first place we ever called home, and it’s because of all of you.” Dean’s eyes scanned the crowd around him. Nearly everyone he and Sam knew were there to show their support. Ellen and Bobby and Rufus stood by Lily and Charlie at the bar, the four of them looking at Dean with love as Garth, Crowley and Hannah sat with Marv and Frank who were putting the extraterrestrial talk on hold for the evening. Kaia and Claire were both looking uncomfortable as teens being confronted with the reality of death were wont to be; and so many others. And his  Cas. Eyes bluer than the sky, drenched in love and empathy stayed steady on him, grounding him in a way that nothing else has or ever would. “So thank you for paying your respects and sticking by us,” Dean raised his glass. “To Mary Winchester. I hope you find the peace you never seemed able to achieve on earth.”

 

“To Mary Winchester,” the crowd echoed.

 

The chatter, for the most part, was quiet, people coming up to Sam and Dean to express their condolences.  Music played low in the background as people milled around, some sharing some actual pleasant stories of Dean’s mother.  Notably, Rowena, who had honestly been the only one in town who ever really became close to Mary. Even Cole had sent flowers, along with an apology letter for Dean, claiming that his mother’s tragedy was the catalyst for him seeking help and that he would be entering a rehab facility. 

 

Castiel never left his side throughout the night, taking over the conversation when Dean was just too drained to keep up. He made sure Dean kept hydrated and made sure he ate some of the baked macaroni and cheese and small dinner roll. Gone was the snarky smartass; instead, Castiel was a devoted partner, whose only goal was making sure Dean was okay. 

 

When Adam came in with John and Kate, Dean and Sam had been pretty stunned to see them. Not Adam, they knew their brother would be there to support them in any way he could, but Dean was not expecting the kind hug and genuine concern from Adam’s mother and the undeniable regret on his father’s face. Still, Dean held himself rigid as John came up and approached him and Sam. Castiel’s hand slid down his arm until their palms met and clasped.

 

“ _ And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, little boy blue- _ ouch!” Dean heard from behind him and he shot Hannah a grateful smile as Crowley rubbed at his side from where his wife had jabbed him with her elbow.

 

“I don’t know what to say, boys,” John rubbed the back of his neck in a way that Dean recognized, a nervous habit that he had adopted from his father. “I’m sorry.”

 

_ I’m sorry for what?  _ Dean thought to himself. _ Sorry for abandoning us? For making a new family and forgetting we existed? For leaving us with someone who didn’t want us? _

 

Of course, saying that would do nothing to change anything and honestly, Dean was happy for John to just say his peace and leave. 

 

“Thank you, sir,” was all he could manage which was more than Sam’s brisk nod. Dean could understand that. The truth of the matter was, Dean had always been more of a parent to Sam than either of their folks had. Dean knew that Sam’s sadness and anger in this situation had more to do with worrying about his big brother.

 

John’s eyes kept darting to Castiel and Dean almost smiled at the haughty, cold stare Cas was leveling his father, and couldn’t help but to turn his head and press his lips to Castiel’s temple in a soft kiss of thanks.

 

John cleared his throat and asked “Are you going to introduce me to your… friend?” and Dean nearly laughed at his father’s obvious discomfort with how to refer to Cas.

 

“I’m Castiel Novak,” Cas’ voice floated like liquid smoke, dark and edgy as he continued to study John intently. “Dean’s boyfriend,” he finished and a curl warmth flooded Dean’s body as he realized that was the first time Cas had ever referred to him as such. He knew, logically, that’s what they were; boyfriends, best friends, lovers, but to hear it from Castiel’s own lips had steadied him in a way that nothing else had in days.

 

Charlie, Lily, and Crowley insisted on Dean and Sam not worrying about the mess, promising that they would clean the bar themselves before opening the next day.

 

“We don’t want to see your pretty face in here for at least three days, love,” Crowley said, giving him a quick, hard hug. “Spend time with your brother and Captain Scowl over here, alright?” Dean huffed out a laugh when Castiel  _ hmphed _ at that and Dean promised he was going to go home and probably sleep for twenty-four hours straight. It wasn’t until later that night, when everything was said and done, that Dean finally allowed himself to shatter.

 

“My mom is dead, Cas,” Dean whispered brokenly into his boyfriend's neck, where his cinnamon scent was the warmest.

 

“I know, baby,” soft words laced with gravel comforted even as soothing hands chased trails up and down his back and Dean sobbed silently into Castiel’s skin. 

 

“I’ve got you, Dean,” Castiel reassured, “ I’ve got you.”

 

And Dean held on with everything he had.


	16. Like I'm Gonna Lose You

Christmas was a subdued affair.  Dean, Cas, and Sam put twinkle lights up along the roof ledge and the wraparound porch.  They decorated a prelit tree, having to go with fake this year, as with everything that had happened, Dean and Cas had never gotten the chance to go pick out a real one. Dean promised himself the next year, he would show Cas a proper Vermont Christmas. 

 

Sarah had flown in from California and nearly stuttered herself speechless when she met Castiel. Dean had looked on in amusement as she peppered his boyfriend with questions.

 

_ We better watch out, Sam.  _  Dean had joked on the way back from the airport.  _ I think she’s gonna steal my boyfriend and dump your sorry ass. _

 

Christmas morning found Sam, ever the early riser, tagging along with Cas for his morning run while Dean and Sarah called them idiots for jogging in twenty-degree weather. The pair were still in their pajamas when Sam and Cas returned, eating ridiculously large bowls of   _ Apple Jacks  _ while sharing a blanket and watching twenty-four hours of  _ A Christmas Story _ .

 

Castiel had taken one look at Dean’s sugary breakfast and shared a glance with Sam that told Dean that the two of them were getting along entirely too well. He didn’t complain, however, when Castiel took his bowl away and replaced it with a western omelet instead.

 

After breakfast they exchanged gifts. Sam and Sarah were completely overwhelmed when Castiel presented them a painting of the two of them based on a picture of the pair embracing by a large tree in full fall foliage that Dean found on Sam's Facebook page.

 

Dean got them a few gift cards to their favorite restaurants in the Stanford area, thanks to the wonder of the internet. 

 

He watched Castiel smile in delighted surprise when Sam and Sarah presented him with a homemade Cobalt blue sweater.

 

“We took a class,” Sarah said shyly and an elbow to Dean's gut from Cas kept him from the teasing he wanted to do to Sam.

 

“Men knit too, Dean,” Castiel scolded.

 

Sam snorted. “Dean knits too, Cas. He's laughing because he's the one that got us the lessons and I whined about it.”

 

“Like a giant bitch-baby,” Dean cackled as Sam shoved him in the shoulder.

 

“You can knit?” Castiel asked with wonder in his voice and Dean winked at him.

 

“Just one of my many hidden talents,” Dean bragged playfully, waggling his brows suggestively which prompted Castiel to rolls his eyes epically; to the point where his whole body moved with the motion.

Dean opened his gift from Sam and Sarah and threw his head back laughing when it revealed a huge bag of beef jerky and a hundred dollar ExxonMobil gift card.

 

“Sam, not to sound critical, but may I ask why you got Dean... gas for Christmas?” the puzzled look on Castiel's face, his head cocked like an inquisitive bird only had Dean laughing harder.

 

“Surely, Dean has told you about his fear of planes?” Sarah asked with a teasing smile to which Dean responded with a one-fingered salute.

 

“Excuse me for not seeing the appeal of flying metal death traps,” he snarked and found Castiel gazing at him fondly.

 

“The only way Dean is ever going to come to visit us is if he drives there. And I'd love it if you'd come out sometime during the summer this year, Dean. You too, Cas.”

 

“I’m sure we can do that,” Castiel answered for them, softly.

 

Dean smirked at Cas when he opened his gift and found chainmail. Cas just laughed and kissed his cheek. Underneath the new LARPing apparel Dean also found the latest season of Doctor Sexy M.D., and a framed black-and-white photo of Dean and Castiel sitting on the hood of the Impala, a hairsbreadth from kissing. His breath caught as he stared at the picture, the intensity of Castiel's eyes completely focused on Dean's as he leaned in, lips a whisper away from each other.

 

Dean swallowed harshly, looking up from the picture frame to settle on Castiel's face. “This is…,” Dean shook his head as he tried to adequately express how this photographic evidence of their profound bond made him feel inside. “I love it,” Dean felt his eyes well up and pulled Castiel in for a kiss, slow and lush and entirely too intimate for company, though that didn't stop them. “Who took this picture?” Dean asked, once they finally parted. “Is this at the community arts center? I definitely don't remember posing for this.” 

 

Castiel scratched at his ear,  his nose scrunched up as he looked at him almost bashfully. “I've been working with Kaia a little bit on her photography and candid shots. I gave her my old Nikon and told her to just have fun with it. She brought this in with her probably a week or so later?” He said thoughtfully. “She said she felt like a voyeur keeping it,” Castiel continued and Dean chuckled.  “Which I can understand. We do look ridiculously intimate in this photo do we not?” Dean blushed as Castiel turned the picture towards Sam and Sarah.

 

“Damn, that's hot,” Sarah whistled and Sam grimaced.

 

“Please don't use descriptions like hot when you're talking about my brother and probably future brother-in-law.”

 

_ Oh, how he wanted that _ . Dean's eyes darted to Castiel's, gauging his reaction to Sam's remark, then looked away quickly, too afraid of what he might see. Dean desperately wanted to continue under the illusion that Cas was someone he got to keep.

 

“We’ll be sure to hire her on the big day,” Castiel deadpanned. “It'll look good in her portfolio.” 

 

Dean's eyes whipped to Cas’ face to try and decipher whether he was being serious or facetious, which was often quite hard with his boyfriend who was at most times both bluntly honest and sarcastic. 

 

Sam was looking at him with an amused smile and Dean just sneered exaggeratedly. 

 

“Here,” Dean handed Castiel his packages. 

 

Castiel opened the first box, pulling out something enclosed in bubble wrap and Dean smiled widely as his face lit up. In Cas’ hands was a glass blown bowl. The stem of the pipe was rich brown and shaped like a tree limb. The bowl itself was made to look like a hive,  and the whole thing was dappled in tiny honey bees.

 

“Dean, this is gorgeous. When did I tell you I liked honey bees?”

 

“Try the night we got super high and you made me watch Bee Movie just so we could listen to that speech that Donald Trump stole,” Dean said, laughing.

 

Sam snorted and Sarah just looked astonished that her idol was a pot smoker.

 

“Oh, yeah,” Cas said softly, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you, Dean.”

 

Castiel looked at him curiously when he handed over the next present. Dean knew it was because his nerves were broadcasted on his face. He hoped his gift wouldn't bring back any unpleasant memories.

 

“Ellen and Rufus help me out with this. Pictures appear to be a Christmas theme this year,” Dean said with a light chuckle.

 

Castiel gasped as he tore back the red and green striped Christmas paper to reveal a collage of photos all featuring Castiel's grandmother Becky as a young girl. A single shot of her laughing at the camera holding an ice cream cone, a picture with Ellen's arm slung around Becky’s shoulders as they sat on the front stoop of the general store. Personally, Dean's favorite was a picture of Becky and Rufus facing each other making silly faces while Ellen stood next to them pretending not to know who they were.

 

“Dean...this is wonderful! I've never seen any of these pictures before, thank you so much. I'll have to make sure I thank Ellen and Rufus too,” Castiel said with a smile in his voice and tears in his eyes.

 

“Your welcome,” Dean said against Cas’ lips as they kissed again.

 

  
  
The rest of the day was pretty quiet. Dean and Sarah finally agreed to let Castiel and Sam change  _ A Christmas Story  _ for  _ It's a Wonderful Life _ and they had a relaxing family dinner of prime rib, cooked expertly by Castiel, and Dean’s special Delmonico potatoes, and cheesy mozzarella green beans. They ate in front of the television on the Disney princess TV trays he had purchased for whenever May came to visit or he had to babysit. 

 

They talked a little about Mary, Dean feeling the sting of her loss more keenly because of the holiday. It was sometime after midnight when they finally all stumbled to their respective rooms. Dean fell into  bed and waited for Castiel to settle in behind him and drape his arm over his stomach. Cas buried his face in Dean’s neck, a position that he knew would not last the whole night but right now was lulling him into a peaceful slumber.

 

“I love you, Dean,” Castiel murmured sleepily against his skin.

 

“I love you too, Cas.”  _ More than I know what to do with. _

* * *

  
  
Castiel unloaded his truck, bringing all of his goods into the cabin, leaving everything in the middle of the floor. His living room looked like a UPS swallowed an OfficeMax and then exploded; packing tape, industrial sized bubble wrap, glassine, scissors, artist tape, and shipping boxes were everywhere. 

 

Packing artwork could be a tedious process, and he could certainly pay someone to do it, but Castiel didn’t like allowing anyone to touch his art. It was extremely personal to him, each minute brushstroke a peek into his soul. He’d finally shown Dean a few of his new works: A black and white photo of dandelion fluff seeds in mid-flight that he titled  _ I wish for this _ , a bear sipping from the lake, which he had finally witnessed one morning over his coffee, grateful Dean had worn him out too much the night before to go jogging, the man still snoring away in Castiel’s bed.

 

_ “There was a fucking bear in my front yard, Dean.”  _

 

_ “What did you expect, Cas? We  _ do _ live in Bear Claw.” _

 

_ “What if I’d gone jogging while you slept? I could have been eaten.” _

 

_ “Haven’t you heard? Bears don’t eat temperamental artists for breakfast. It’s bad for their digestion.” _

 

Asshole.  Castiel hadn’t shown Dean any of the artwork that he himself had inspired from Castiel, which was almost all of it. He was still holding onto the hope that he could convince Dean to take some time off from the bar and come with him back to California for a few days to at least see the show. He really wanted to share with Dean how much he had brought Cas back to life, but he wasn’t holding out much hope for it.

 

The truth was, that as far as Dean had come in asking for what he wanted and being open, Castiel suspected there was still a part of Dean that expected him to step back into his previous life and never come back. It was irksome and frustrating but also wholly understandable given his abandonment issues. He’d come to the conclusion that the only thing that would prove to Dean that his place was beside him, would be time. 

 

The lyrics of a Meghan Trainor song had been dancing in his head the closer and closer they got to Castiel’s departure:

 

_ So I'm gonna love you like I'm gonna lose you _

_ And I'm gonna hold you like I'm saying goodbye _

 

That’s what it felt like when he and Dean made love ever since New Year’s.  Like his boyfriend thought he was going to just disappear. Last night was no different.

 

_ Castiel laid stretched out on the bed as fire crackled between them. Like a lit fuse spitting sparks, Dean worshipped his body, little points of electricity dancing across his body everywhere Dean’s lips brushed his skin. _

 

_ Dean knelt between Castiel’s splayed thighs and gazed down at him reverently as he stroked the firm, toned muscles, looking his fill as he thrust rhythmically into Castiel’s welcoming body. Cas had discovered early on that Dean really enjoyed the erotic sight of his thick cock filling Castiel’s hole, enjoyed the slick sound of lube squelching, and Cas’ stretched rim glistened, pink, puffy, and wet. _

 

_ “God, look at you,” Dean murmured and Cas could feel the edge of desperation in his movements, in the jerking of his hips that drew out low growls and guttural groans from deep within himself.  Dean gasped as he pitched forward, forearms caging Castiel as he took his mouth in a deep, plundering kiss. Cas hitched his legs up higher even as Dean tugged him closer, changing the angle enough that head of Dean’s cock glanced against his prostate on every other frenzied drive into his body. _

 

_ Castiel broke away from Dean’s lips with a gasp, and brought his hands up to his beautiful face; eyes fever bright, green and gold now almost black with lust and shining with utter love. _

 

_ “I’m coming back, Dean. I promise I’m coming back,” Castiel panted. _

 

_ “I know,” Dean said, though the words seemed drenched in grief as he leaned forward to swallow Cas’ mewls of pleasure as they burst out of him with every rock and glide of Dean’s body.  Dean dragged his lips away from Cas’ to trail along his jawline and Cas turned his head to grant him better access, breath hitching as Dean pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his adam’s apple.  Cas could feel his muscles tightening up as fire simmered under his skin, ready to erupt as he started to crest. He felt wet lashes butterfly kiss across the skin of his neck as Dean sucked bruises along his clavicle. A hand slipped between them and Castiel nearly sobbed in relief when strong calloused fingers stroked him along with Dean’s thrusts, letting out a deep, rumbling groan. _

 

_ “I love you,” Dean breathed into his ear and Castiel shattered, body thrumming with pleasure as he spilled over Dean’s hand, thick spurts of come pulsing over and over. Dean pulled back enough to watch and the vision Castiel made seemed to be enough to nudge Dean right off of the edge to a freefall as he cried out, hot release filling Cas so full that he could already feel it leaking out and onto the messy sheets before Dean had even finished working them through their orgasms. _

 

_ Heart racing and skin slick with sweat and come, they clung to each other, not worrying about cleaning up, just focused on holding one another tight. _

 

They’d showered away the remnants of their copulation in the morning and Castiel immediately noticed Dean’s guard up but he didn’t press. The grateful look that he had spared Cas when they’d parted with a sweet kiss this morning told Castiel he’d done the right thing. They’d get through this. He’d stay in California for a few days, have a successful show, and then he would come back home to Dean. And, if a big part of him was aching for Dean to come with him to see what he inspired, he kept it to himself.

 

Castiel laid out a large piece of foam onto the floor, then laid a long, wide piece of glassine on top of it. He carefully picked up his favorite piece-Dean’s alluring Autumn Eyes peeking through the trees, a kaleidoscope of colorful maple leaves that highlighted his green and gold orbs spectacularly. He placed it face down onto the special acid-free and grease resistant paper and wrapped it, using artist tape that would lift easily from the frame when it was time for unpacking. He then had to wrap it multiple times in bubble wrap, thick enough so there was no room to play when encased in the shipping box.

 

Castiel spent most of the afternoon packing his work up, taking a break for lunch and a bowl in between. The truck to pick up his work and ship it to Gabriel’s waiting arms was supposed to arrive at 5:00 pm. Castiel’s flight left the day after tomorrow and he was eager to show what he had produced. He wanted the critics and the paparazzi and his father and brother to see that he could not be broken; that he had in fact, with painstaking care, been glued back together by a man who’s own cracks and fissures still needed filling. Castiel was ready, more than willing, and able to take on that task.

 

Castiel would be gone for about two weeks when all was said and done and when he came back, he would have more packing to do. Dean didn’t know it yet, was too afraid to ask for it, he suspected, but Cas was moving in with his boyfriend. It was stupid to continue to pretend to live in this cabin when he spent most nights with Dean anyway. Instead, his grandmother’s cabin would become his permanent workspace. It would be perfect for times when he was in the zone, those times where he painted for days and then crashed where he stood.  Part of him felt guilty for making plans without consulting Dean about them, but Castiel was afraid that if he wasn’t assertive-if he didn’t make the _grand_ _gesture-_ then Dean might let his abandonment issues prevent him from finally trusting Castiel enough to truly ask him for what he wanted.  

 

He finished packing everything up around 4:00 pm and made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which he then ate standing up in the kitchen with a tall glass of milk. The truck showed up a few minutes early and Castiel helped the guys load it up, squashing down the anxiety that came with putting pieces of himself in other people’s care.

 

Cas stripped in the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the pipes warm up as he brushed his teeth. He felt a surge of heat as he noted the dark purple marks scattered across his skin and down his neck. He doubted they would go unnoticed by the press and he smirked at his reflection as his dick twitched at the thought of people seeing how he belonged to someone.  

 

Castiel stepped into the tub under the hot spray of the shower and let visions of the night before coax him to full hardness. He jerked himself off fast and dirty so that he could get to  _ Winchester’s _ quickly and tell Dean all about it in graphic detail while they played cribbage.

* * *

 

  
After a torturous goodbye at the airport, Dean drove to work and sighed heavily as he unlocked the bar. He turned the blinds allowing sunlight to filter through and golden dust motes danced on the air in front of him. He turned the TV on low to food network for background noise as he got his drawer started for the day. Garth would be in soon to start prep but not for another hour or so. Monday was always slow and Dean wouldn’t be relieved until Crowley and Lily came in a six.

 

Dean wondered idly if Castiel was enjoying his flight. He’d seemed nervous but excited for his show and Dean ached to be there for him. He knew that he was a coward for staying home and using work as an excuse for not going. He threw a bar rag across the counter in disgust at himself.

 

He was startled out of his self-flagellation by the door opening and Ellen, Lily, and Charlie striding into the bar.

 

For a moment they just stared at him, Ellen, holding a garment bag and a duffel, had her eyes narrowed in scrutiny while the other two looked more amused than anything else.   

 

Finally, “Boy, you are dumber than a surfer in Nebraska.”

 

“Well, thank you, Ellen, it’s lovely to see you too.”

 

“What’n the hell are you doing here, huh? That boy of yours is making his come back and he needs your support and you’re just standing behind this bar like a desert waiting for the rain,” Ellen said sharply.

 

“I think that’s a song,” Charlie stage whispered and Lily elbowed her softly, holding back a laugh of her own.

 

“Gee, thanks Ellen,” he snarked back even as he agreed and wondered how long it would take him if he drove out that night.

 

“Dean,” Charlie said gently, “she’s right. Cas is a sarcastic, prickly wise-ass on the outside, but on the inside not so much. No matter how aloof and secure he plays to the public, I’m sure C.J. Krushnic would benefit from the presence of his devoted boyfriend,” she finished with a smile.    

 

“When did you even find out about this? Cas and I never specified why he was going back to California for a few weeks, just that it had to do with work.” Dean was puzzled and Lily snorted.

 

“Dean, this is Charlie we’re talking about. Do you honestly think you could start dating and your best friend NOT check up on the guy you fell so fast and hard for? Not to mention your mother blabbing it to everyone on Thanksgiving,” Ellen said before adding a contrite, “God rest her soul.”

 

Charlie only raised a brow at him, as though disappointed he was even surprised.

 

“What’s with the bag and the duffel?’ he asked instead.

 

“This is your suit. I had it dry cleaned for you. Can’t have you amongst the rich and the famous in jeans and a flannel, now can we? Here,” she slapped down an envelope. A peek inside revealed a ticket to Castiel’s showing. “Sam sent me this because we all knew you wouldn’t take the initiative. Went and filled a bag with some of your clothes for the next few days too.“

 

Dean’s mouth fell open in shock, not knowing whether or not to be pissed about the invasion of privacy or grateful. Probably a little of both.

 

“I knew I shouldn’t have given you a key,” he said but there was no heat in his voice. “What am I supposed to do with the bar?” he asked, though it was a weak question. He could shut it down for the week and be fine. It wouldn’t be ideal for the regulars, or his pocket, but he could still swing it. He had in fact been playing with that idea in the back of his head ever since he’d kissed Cas goodbye at the airport.      

 

Ellen rolled her eyes for form. “The bar will be fine. Bobby’s gonna run the diner and I’m gonna come over here while you’re gone. Jo’s gonna help out too. Now, now, now,” she tsked at him, “don’t you give me that face. This is what family does for each other. You get out from behind that bar and take care of any last minute stuff you have to do then get on the road. If you leave by two and don’t make too many stops, you can be at Sam’s in forty-five, forty-six hours.  Cas’ show is Thursday night, right?“

 

Dean nodded dumbly, mind already on the road.

 

“Then get a move on, boy. Go surprise that man of yours.”

 

He found himself smiling widely as the three best women in his life stared at him expectantly. Dean guessed he’d be using that gas card sooner than he thought.

* * *

 

  
  


Dean had texted Sam before he left, asking him not to slip the news to Castiel. Sam had just forgone texting back and called to tell him that he and Sarah had already made up the guest room. 

 

Dean drove with a nervous energy that he tried to drown away by blasting classic rock stations and switching to his mixtapes when the signal became scrambled. He didn’t let himself think about whether he would feel out of place, or if he would embarrass himself. He knew he looked damn good in a suit, even if the only one he had was the one he wore for weddings and funerals.

 

By the time he rolled into Sam and Sarah’s apartment complex it was nearing 2:00 am on Thursday morning and he was dead on his feet. He knew his brother was waiting up for him and when he buzzed to be let up he was let in right away. 

 

Sam showed Dean to the second bedroom which was used for guests-mainly Dean-and also housed most of Sam’s law books on the old scarred desk he had taken with him from  _ Bear Claw _ . They sat at the small kitchen table, each nursing a beer.

 

“I’m glad you came, Dean. Cas is going to be so happy to see you,” Sam said.

 

Dean scratched at the back of his neck and nodded. “Yeah, I hope so, Sammy.”

 

“We were planning on leaving a little bit early. Sarah needs to pick something up from her parent's house, hope that’s okay?”

 

“That’s fine, but I’m gonna follow you in my car. Cas has been staying with Gabriel and I’m not sure if he’s gonna wanna go back there tonight to sleep or to get his stuff and come back to your house with me. Better if I have Baby in case we have running around to do,” Dean said, before letting out a jaw-cracking yawn.

 

“Alright, that’s it. Off to bed with you. If we don’t get some sleep we’re going to regret it tonight. We don’t want my future brother in law to think we’re bored because we can’t stop yawning,” Sam teased.

 

“Shut up,” Dean said without heat, because honestly, the thought of marrying Castiel someday filled him with nothing but joy. Dean got rid of the beer bottles as Sam locked up.  

 

Dean changed into sleep pants and tee-shirt and put the television on sleep for background noise until he could fall asleep. He took out his phone and looked again at the last message he had gotten from Castiel.

 

**Castiel: sent 12:39 pm yesterday: Sorry, I know it’s late at home, but I miss you.**

 

The text was accompanied by a picture of Castiel sporting sad eyes and a joint in his mouth as he laid back against the pillows in Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt and it made him feel warm inside. Dean had stopped at a twenty-four hour  _ Starbucks _ for a coffee and sent back an  _ I love you, get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day. _ ****

 

Crawling under the sheets, He finally drifted off to the sound of studio audience laughter,  _ That 70’s Show _ playing in the background.  

* * *

 

 

“You clean up good, Dean,” Sarah said with an appreciative smile.

 

“Thanks, Sarah,” Dean replied as he fiddled with his tie before finally forgoing it to leave the collar of his white dress shirt unbuttoned. His navy suit jacket and pants had been freshly pressed and Sarah had tucked a pink pocket square into the front pocket giving him a nice  _ pop of color _ as she put it. He’d styled his hair using some of Sam’s frou-frou hair product, and it made him smell a little bit like a Pina Colada, but he had to admit, it looked good. 

 

Dean was grateful to follow Sam and Sarah and not have to deal with directions. He hadn’t been in Sam’s neck of the woods in over a year and was happy to only have to focus on following Sarah’s car-  _ Jesus Christ, a fucking Prius _ -and after a quick stop at Sarah’s parents house, they were soon pulling up in front of the arts department building where the showing was being held.

 

When they got out of their respective cars, Dean waved Sam and Sarah on ahead. 

 

“I just need a minute, guys.”

 

Sam looked at him in concern for a moment, but then nodded, taking Sarah’s hand and heading into the building.

 

Dean took a deep breath and watched as people filtered in and out of the building, most dressed to the nines, others in what Claire and Kaia called  _ Hippie Chic.  _ A large standing sign touted the triumphant return of C.J. Krushnic, welcoming viewers to his showing entitled  _ Autumn in his Eyes  _ declaring that all proceeds for work sold would be split between  _ Random Acts _ and  _ The Trevor Project _ , Castiel’s two favorite charities- the first dedicated to kindness acts around the world, the second a non profit organization focused on suicide prevention for LGBTQ youth.

 

Dean noticed a pair of the patrons who came outside were eyeing him up and down kind of funny, whispering behind their hands and he had to fight not to ask what the hell they were staring at. He didn’t need to be causing a scene on Cas’ big night, but, just as he was settling down enough to head inside, it happened again; another couple eyed him curiously and Dean began to wonder if he’d broken some sort of dress code. Should he not have nixed the tie?

 

Dean forced himself to ignore the gawking and headed up the short steps into the building. He rolled his head on his shoulders and shrugged to shake out the jitters. “Let’s do this,” he muttered to himself.

 

The air smelled cool and clean with a hint of eucalyptus and he wondered if it was piped through the vents.  Fancy tuxedoed waiters walked around with flutes of champagne and canapes, but Dean was too nervous to eat. He downed a glass of white, however, and grabbed one more as he surveyed the room. The walls were stark white and the floor was a slate grey with a hint of diamond patterns in lighter shades of dove and pewter.  

 

Music filtered in and Dean recognized the entrancing sound of  _ Ruelle _ coming through the speakers.

 

He saw Sam and Sarah chatting with people he assumed were classmates but his focus was on finding Castiel. It didn’t take him long and _ oh fuck _ , did he look breathtaking. 

 

Castiel stood, encircled by admirers. His head was thrown back in laughter showing off the column of his throat and Dean could see even from where he stood, the faint bruise that he himself had put there. Cas’ perpetually messy dark hair was slightly tamer, but Dean knew that wouldn’t last long. Castiel was wearing a deep blue dress shirt with a black waistcoat, a red striped tie, and black slacks and Dean literally felt his mouth water. He wanted to run over there and burst through the crowd surrounding him. He wanted to sweep him up in his arms and kiss the hell out of him, claiming Cas for his own in front of all of his groupies, but he couldn’t seem to make his feet move. He chugged the rest of his champagne, placing the flute on the tray of a passing waiter and observed as a tall, blond man placed a hand on the small of Castiel’s back. He looked ever the picture of sophistication, so the opposite of what Dean was, and for a second he couldn’t breathe. He needed some air. He wasn’t going to leave, but for a second, he needed to collect himself. Dean turned, intending to head out of the room when a shorter man with hair like Sam’s only lighter, whispered in Castiel’s ear. Cas swiveled his head and his wide eyes locked on Dean’s.

 

Dean found himself backing up, even as Castiel stepped forward, a myriad of emotions crossing over his face from shocked, to elated, and now to concern. Dean made himself stop. He wasn’t Cinderella running away from the ball.  Instead, he waited, stomach twisting with nerves, as Cas strode up to him, eyes following his wake. Before he knew what was happening, a hand slipped in under his suit jacket to tug his body forward. Another glided up his chest before looping around his nape to clasp the back of his neck. He had the chance to catch the enticing scent of cinnamon before his lips were caught in a luscious kiss that tasted of champagne and  _ Cas _ .

  
  



	17. I Get to Love You

                                                                       

 

Castiel latched onto Dean like a man drowning and he was the only    source of air.  He’d been hopeful, he couldn’t deny it. For so long he had been disappointed by people in his life and Dean had been changing that bit by bit, showing him kindness, patience, and unwavering love. Castiel had never brought a date to one of these events; never had anyone to show pride in his work who wasn’t getting paid to. He’d never had a real relationship that went beyond sex or allowed himself to get close enough to anyone to truly let them in, until Dean. So, of course, he had been hopeful that Dean would continue to surprise him and be here for him in another way no one has before; as the love of his life.

 

When Gabriel had whispered in his ear that the source of his inspiration was here he turned around, shocked and jubilant.  He looked like a GQ cover come to life but Cas could recognize the stirrings of panic settling in. Dean had the look of someone who had just walked into a party where he knew no one and didn’t really belong. So Castiel made sure Dean knew he belonged.

 

The kiss never had a chance to be chaste, jumping straight to filthy and sumptuous.  He was swathed in sensation; the scent of woodsmoke and pine and a dash of _coconut?_ The feeling of his strong arms, a physical match for him on every level and enveloping him so perfectly.  The look in his eyes both sultry and innocent every time their lips broke just to cling again. And his taste as tongues twined deliciously, of champagne and spearmint.

If Castiel had been thinking of anything else other than Dean in his arms, he would have heard the clicking of cameras- which the signs clearly said were not permitted unless they were approved photographers. He would have noticed Sam and Sarah first smiling then wincing as he and Dean continued to tongue fuck each other in public like no one else was in the room. He would have heard the footsteps of his intoxicated father stumbling up behind him and grab him roughly by the shoulder.

 

“How can you be so flagrantly disgusting?” came an obnoxious voice leaning into his ear. Castiel stared at his father in shock. Dean had no such problem.

 

“Do not touch him again,” Dean warned and Cas felt sick in his stomach when Levi threw his head back and laughed.

 

“You’re either laughing because you’re scared, or you’re laughing because you’re stupid,” Dean said, cocking his head and raising his brows as if to ask which.

 

A startled gasp of laughter and multiple clicks of the camera brought Castiel out of his frozen state.

 

Castiel tossed on a haughty expression. “Stupid,” he said flatly, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“I came here to implore to your good sense and do right by your family,” Levi hissed. “It’s the least you can do. You owe me, Castiel.”

 

Castiel gave a baffled huff of laughter, “This ought to be good.” Humor gone, Cas shifted forward right in his father’s face. “Explain to me how I owe you anything,” he gritted out fiercely.

 

He felt Dean’s steady presence at his side, and Gabriel and Sam, Sarah, and Balthazar on the other, flanking him protectively.

 

“You’re poison.  You and this...lifestyle. It’s embarrassing to the family name!”

 

Castiel gave a huff of disbelieving laughter. Only Levi Krushnic would consider Castiel being bisexual worse for the family name than a son who was a convicted murderer. “Lucky for you, I changed my name. You can read all about it in the program for the show.”

 

“Ah yes, I saw it. How you’ve moved to the wilds of Vermont to live with your boyfriend,” Levi spat out.

 

“I didn’t say wilds of Vermont, I swear, he’s just being dramatic,” Castiel said to Dean, lips curled up in a half smile as his father seethed at his lack of preferred response.

 

“Don’t you mock me, you filthy sinner,” Levi fumed and Cas could only shake his head in disgust.

 

“You’re not going to get what you came for, so you might as well leave,” Cas’ voice was tired and so over this conversation.

 

“Listen, you sickening abomination-”

 

“That’s it,” Cas heard Dean say before his fist shot out, knocking Levi to the ground.

 

Noise erupted around them as more cameras flashed and security made their way over and Dean’s eyes met his, panicked. “I’m sorry, Cas, I know you can take care of yourself, but I couldn't keep standing there and listen to him talk to you li-” Cas silenced his ramblings with a soft kiss.

 

Security gathered around them as Levi shouted “I want him arrested!” as he stumbled to his feet, swiping a hand across his bleeding lip.

 

Castiel stepped between Levi and Dean, “We’re fine, here,” Cas nodded back at security.

 

“Mr. Krushnic we can’t have fights breaking out-”

 

“Novak,” he corrected. “We are fine,” Castiel repeated, voice like winter ice. “My father will not be having anyone arrested.” Castiel narrowed his eyes at Levi. “What do you think will happen, huh? We have photographers, reporters, witnesses all here who all saw you grab me. Who all heard you spew hate-filled rants at me. Who all saw my boyfriend defend me from your homophobic slurs.” Castiel shook his head on a huff of astonished laughter. “Who do you think a judge is going to side with? Do you really need more bad press, father?” Castiel asked, patronizingly.

 

Levi seemed to shrink in on himself at that point as the truth of Castiel’s statement seemed to filter through the drunken haze. He pushed at the hands of the security trying to help him stay steady on his feet and gave Castiel a final glare.

 

“God is going to feed your souls to the demons for this blasphemy,” he threatened before finally leaving.

 “Nothing more dangerous than a holy roller on a mission, ammirite, Sammy?” Dean asked as his brother stepped forward to ask if they were okay.

“Cassie, you sure know how to throw a party. Are you going to introduce us to your muse, darling?” Balthazar stood next to Gabriel who was sporting an amused grin and gestured about the room. Cas saw Dean’s brows knit in confusion as he surveyed the room for the first time, gorgeous eyes widening in shock.

 

“Ah, yes,” Cas said, scratching at his ear nervously, “Balthazar, Gabriel, this is Dean Winchester.  Dean this is Balthazar, a fellow artist and former classmate of mine and my friend and manager, Gabriel Milton.”

 

“Yeah, hey, nice to meetcha,” Dean said, clearly distracted, “Cas, what is all of this?” he asked, gaze lighting on his in question.

 

“It’s you, Dean,” Castiel took his hand and pulled him away from others. He led Dean on a tour of the room where Castiel’s paintings hung at varying intervals and heights, each with individual descriptions and lighting.  
“You remember what I said to you when we first met?”

 

Dean snorted inelegantly. “Yeah. You said: _Motherfucker that’s hot ._ ”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “After that, smartass.”

 

“Yes.” Dean smiled softly as he took in the painting Castiel had led him to. Dean stared at the image of himself strumming a guitar, under the soft stage lights of Winchester’s Bar, green-gold eyes glinting and lips curved in a charming smile.  “You said my eyes were like autumn,” Dean laughed. “You looked shocked at your own words.”

 

Castiel chuckled as he led Dean along, past the works he’d already seen at home. “I was certainly not expecting you,” he said as he paused for Dean to gawk at the painting of the dark forest lit with all-seeing eyes, onto painting after painting, all highlighting the colors of Dean’s eyes in some way. When they stopped in front of the last canvas, Dean’s breath audibly hitched as he saw himself peeking out through a vast, thick canopy of autumn leaves.

 

“From the first day I saw you, you woke something in me that I wasn’t sure I’d ever get back,” Castiel shook his head, amused. “But I’ve learned to never underestimate you, Dean Winchester.”

 

Dean gave a watery laugh. “You know, I was so nervous to come here. I was afraid I would walk in and see you in your element, among the sophisticated…,” Dean trailed off as he waved his hand at the people draped in finery and trendy fashions milling about the room. ”I was afraid you’d take one look at me and realize how bored you’d eventually get in a small town like _Bear Claw_ , how there was nothing there that could really inspire you the way a place like this could,” Dean said quietly, running a thumb across the sign underneath the painting declaring _Item Not For Sale_.

 

Castiel cupped Dean’s face lovingly, searching his eyes that still appeared a little glazed in shock. “As you can see, Dean,” he said gesturing around, “clearly all the inspiration I need is you.”

 

The smile that bloomed across Dean’s face at his words had him itching for his sketchpad, but the thought was lost as Dean darted in for a kiss, soft and achingly tender. “I love you, Cas.”

 

“I love you, too, Dean. Now let’s get out of here. I want to head back home as soon as we can tomorrow, I have some packing I could use help with,” Castiel said as they made their way back over to Gabriel who was standing with Sarah and Sam, leering at the latter rather lasciviously. He was glad Dean didn’t seem to notice Sam staring back in obvious curiosity.

 

“Packing? Why? Where are you going now?” Dean asked with a _what the fuck_ expression that had Cas laughing.

 

“Across a lake. You don’t expect me to move all of my things into your house by myself, do you?”

 

If Castiel had thought Dean’s smile was gorgeous before, it was nothing compared to the event it was now, brighter than fourth of July fireworks. Dean tugged Cas into a fierce embrace that Castiel reciprocated with just as much fervor. “I get to keep you,” Dean whispered against his ear.

 

Cas pulled back to level his gaze on Dean’s. “We get to keep each other,” he replied and captured his lips in a kiss filled with promises.

 

**One Year Later**

 

Things settled into a routine when Castiel and Dean went back home to _Bear Claw_.  It hadn’t taken long at all to get Castiel officially moved into Dean’s house and it very soon began to feel like both of theirs. Dean insisted Castiel be free to change or add anything he wanted too. Cas added a few paintings, but not much else aside from his clothes.

 

He continued to use his cabin as an art studio and on days when he would get stuck in the zone, Dean would bring dinner to the cabin and they would sleep in the bedroom there. Sleeping apart was something they tried to avoid if possible.

 

Castiel began teaching art classes at the community center instead of just volunteering and he loved it. He adored seeing the joy on his student's faces, young and old, as they created something from nothing.

 

When summer rolled around, they made plans to drive out to California to visit with Sam and Sarah and Gabriel, which was a situation that Dean tried to not think about too much to Castiel’s amusement.

 

It was Friday and the Impala had been packed the night before, Castiel was nervously awaiting Dean to finish his shift at _Winchester’s_ to come pick him up from the Arts Center so they could be on his way.

 

“Cas, he’s here,” Kaia peeked her head in the room, “Claire’s bringing him in. You ready?”

 

_One look at you,_

_my whole life falls in line._

_I prayed for you_

_before I called you mine._

 

Castiel blew out a breath, the soothing sounds of _Ruelle_ filtering in through the open door. “Yes,” he said, excited, anxious, and oh so ready.

_Oh I can't believe it's true sometimes._

_Oh I can't believe it's true._

 

“Cas?” he heard Dean call out and all the butterflies in his stomach seemed to settle at the sound of his voice.

 

“In here, baby.”

 

_I get to love you._

_It's the best thing that I'll ever do._

_I get to love you._

_It's a promise I'm making to you_

 

Dean came around the corner entering the room and strode up to him for a quick kiss. “In here rocking it out to ballads, huh? I have so much to teach you, young padawan,” Dean smirked when Cas only rolled his eyes in response, not bothering to defend that it was Dean’s stupid Shadowhunters show that got him into the singer in the first place. “Baby’s all fueled up and ready to hit the road,” The excitement in Dean’s voice over taking a road trip was palpable and Castiel could only smile at him fondly.

 

“Yes, I just wanted to show you something me and the kids have been working on before we go,” Castiel said gesturing to three partitions.

 

_The way you love,_

_it changes who I am._

_I am undone._

_I thank God once again._

 

Dean grinned. “Cool. I love sneak peeks,” he said, taking the lead and stepping behind the first panel. He looked at the painting in front of him, obviously done by a younger child but still easy enough to see what it was. “Is that us?” Dean tipped his head back laughing at the picture of two tall stick figures standing, facing each other, one holding a cup and the others stick figure arms up and brown splashes of paint representing coffee that flew in the air towards the other with lots of thought bubbles with pound signs and asterisks that were meant to symbolize bad language.

 

_Oh I can't believe it's true sometimes._

_Oh I can't believe it's true._

 

“They asked how we met and we turned it into a lesson in watercolors,” Castiel said, gesturing to the next partition. This one was done by someone a little older and it was easily recognizable as Dean and Cas sharing a kiss in front of the raised stage at Winchesters. The proportions were a little off but it was still really well done.

 

_I get to love you._

_It's the best thing that I'll ever do._

_I get to love you._

_It's a promise I'm making to you._

 

“First kiss?” Dean asked gently and Cas nodded.

 

“Yes. Apparently Lily had snuck a picture of us that night, so it was used for reference. This painting was done by young Ben Braeden.”

 

“Wow. Not bad for a twelve-year-old, huh?”

 

Castiel took a deep breath. “Not bad at all,” he said, voice shaking a bit.

 

“You okay?” Dean asked, tone laced with concern and Castiel smiled at him brightly, hand in his pocket fingering the black box he had in there.

 

“I’m perfect,” he said, gesturing to the final partition. The painting behind the screen was one that he had obviously painted himself.  He heard Dean’s breath hitch as he stared at the painting. It featured Castiel on bended knee in front of Dean holding a ring.

 

_Whatever may come your heart I will choose._

_Forever I'm yours, Forever I do._

 

“Cas?” Dean whispered as he slowly turned around to find Castiel in a mirror pose of the painting.

 

“I’m hoping you can help me with the end of this series,” Cas’ lip curled up in a half smile as Dean gazed down at him, beaming like the sun, with tears in his eyes. “Dean Winchester, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

 

_I get to love you_

_I get to love you_

 

Dean pulled Castiel up until they stood chest to chest. “Nice ring,” Dean remarked as he looked down at the box trapped between them. It was a plain silver tungsten ring, nothing flashy because that’s not who Dean was.

 

“I tried,” Cas said with a grin. “Now, can you answer me please?”

 

Dean laughed, a watery sound, and took the ring out of the box and slid it onto his finger. “Of course I will marry you, Castiel.” He gripped Cas’ face, the cool metal of the ring smooth against his stubble. “There is nothing I want more than to spend the rest of our lives together,” he breathed out before claiming Castiel’s lips in a deep kiss.

 

“That’s good,” Cas said as they broke apart. “It would have made our living situation awkward if you had said no.”

 

“Such a wiseass,” Dean said, shaking his head and smiling ear to ear as he walked over to a blank canvas. He searched around for a minute while Cas looked on, confused until Dean grabbed a plastic cup and squeezed a bit of blue paint into it. Castiel watched as Dean found a brush and painted a large YES in block letters. He then carried the easel carefully and placed it next to Castiel’s proposal painting.

 

Dean turned to him and shrugged. “Just in case they’re wondering what I said while we’re gone.”

 

“Makes sense,” Cas nodded at him, then let out a shriek as Dean’s composure finally cracked. He let out a _whoop_ as he swept Cas up and spun him around.

 

“We’re getting married!” he crowed and Castiel laughed joyously.

 

“Yes, we are, baby,” Castiel said into the skin of his neck, a few tears slipping out unchecked. He couldn’t believe how quickly his life had changed in a year. He’d come to _Bear Claw_ to heal in solitude and found everything he would ever need in this one breathtaking, miraculous man with autumn in his eyes. “Yes, we are.”

 

_Whatever may come your heart I will choose._

_Forever I'm yours, Forever I do._

_I get to love you_

_I get to love you_

 


End file.
